


an elegy for lovers

by eurydicees



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Annabeth Chase Dies, Dark Percy Jackson, F/M, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Orpheus - Freeform, Post-Tartarus (Percy Jackson), Post-The Heroes of Olympus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-10-29 00:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydicees/pseuds/eurydicees
Summary: If there was one thing that Percy will never forgive himself for, it is that she had died. But now, there might be a way down to the Underworld, a way to bargain with the King of the Dead. There have been hundreds of heroes to try it before, but Percy-- Percy would tear down the sun and stars if it meant bringing Annabeth back from the dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the 2019 pjo big bang (pjo-hoo-bigbang.tumblr.com) and was edited by the lovely juli (botls.tumblr.com) and abbie (persephonerights.tumblr.com). the incredible artist, kaftkos-is-demidead.tumblr.com, created beautiful art which can be found on tumblr, and i'll also post at the end of the work! thank you to everyone running the big bang and everyone who somehow helped get this piece finished.

If there was one thing that Percy would never be able to forgive himself for, it was that he had almost saved her. He had almost reached her, he had his hand outstretched, he had his mouth open and her name on his lips -- _ Annabeth _ \-- 

If there was one thing that he will never forgive himself for, it is that she had died. She had died, and he hadn’t been able to do anything. 

He was supposed to be the hero. The hero of a million prophecies and quests and daring deeds, he should have been able to get to her in time. But even with all the training and the fighting and the endless hordes of monsters, even with everything they had survived together it - it hadn’t been enough. He was supposed to be a hero. He was supposed to be infallible. 

But he was just a fucking human.

So he collapsed into that humanness, every piece of him caving into a broken hopelessness. He stopped talking to people, stopped trying to reach out to this broken world. He wanted to sleep, but he didn’t want to wake up screaming her name, still as bitter as the blood on his chewed up lips. He didn’t want to wake up with Tartarus behind his eyes and he didn’t want to wake up to see a world that Annabeth wasn’t in. He didn’t want to wake up at all. 

When Percy stumbled out of the elevator, the music still ringing in his ears, he had been broken. There were scars on his arms that all the ambrosia in the world wouldn’t be able to cover up, and his twisted ankle had healed wrong somewhere along the way. He collapsed to his knees, and maybe something else broke, or maybe that was Riptide falling to the ground, or maybe it was Annabeth’s skull cracking on a rock again and again and again. Maybe that awful sound was just the creaking of an earth that never stood still. 

He let the fight go on without him. He could see Hazel, in some kind of mist-ridden fog. There was Leo, burning, and he could hear the shouts of the others. The cacophony of sound was a chorus of ghosts in his mind–– an orchestra of yelling and fighting and dying. There was so much dying. These damned humans never stopped dying. 

“I will kill Gaia,” he whispered to the raging battle. “I will tear her apart with my bare hands, or I will die trying.” 

Except he had already tried, he had already fought her sons and he had already walked through hell to stop her, and it hadn’t been enough. He had closed the Doors of Death, but it wasn’t a loss to her, not when she had all her children ready to fight. He had already tried fighting, and maybe – he couldn’t bring himself to think it, but the thought was settling into his brain and sticking there like a shadow -- he had tried fighting, and maybe it was time to give up, to die trying. 

He closed his eyes, letting himself fall. His palms caught on the rocky floor and the calloused skin split, but he barely felt it. There were worse pains in the world. He knew that all too well. If he were to die now, having just made it out of Tartarus, he wouldn’t care. He would just be dead. That would be better than this. 

The giant melted away along with the mist and the fog and the adrenaline. Piper ran to his side, stopping just short of him with a hand over her mouth. 

“Annabeth,” she whispered. 

Percy focused on breathing. In and out and in and out. Long, deep breaths. They still tasted like fire. His lips were chapped, the skin having been burnt away by the River Phlegethon, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed her.

“Come on,” Hazel murmured, her voice soft in his ear. She must have been tired, but she pulled Percy up, a steady hand on his arm. She wrapped it around her shoulders, supporting his weight. “Stand up, Percy.” 

He let her drag him upright, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of their eyes. He could feel the weight of their gazes on him, on the newly earned scars, on the gaunt tinge to his skin. He didn’t say a word as Hazel and Nico brought them to the light. 

It was the first sunlight he had felt in centuries, the first light that actually met his cheeks, and he could feel tears melting down his skin. He swallowed down the choked up feeling in his throat, gripping tight to Hazel’s wrist as he turned his face up to the sun. The warmth laid on him gently, soft in comparison to the humid sweat of Tartarus. 

He opened his eyes, turning to say, “We made it, we made it, we survived, Annabeth -- ”

There was no one beside him, just an achingly picturesque hill and an altar. His breath caught in his throat, and he spun around, spotting a brush of blonde hair in the corner of his eye, ready to call out. 

Jason smiled at him, showing the faint scar on his lip, his eyes as blue as the sky. “Hey, man.”

Percy just nodded at him. There was nothing more to say. There were only a few words on his lips, and they were all apologies to a ghost. 

The seven (six) had to sail on. That’s what they were supposed to do, that was their quest -- go to Greece, face a thousand more monsters than they had already fought, and save the world again (and again and again and again).

So they sailed to Greece. Leo asked if they could sail on water, now that Percy was back. Percy just shrugged. He didn’t care if the boat sank. The giants could walk the earth. Gaea could rule. The gods could fall. None of it mattered. 

He remembered Alaska, and the calm kind of wilderness that was a godless world. The hyperborean giants wandering the mountains, the gryphons resting in the evergreen trees. The endless expanse of land, none of it tackled into submission by gods who wanted more temples and statues. It hadn’t been that bad, Percy thought privately, and some secret part of him ached for that peace. 

But the others kept going. They still had a kind of loyalty left in them, a motivation that drove them to defend Olympus. Percy studied them, watching as they trained and smiled nervously in preparation for the final battle. He watched them fight off harpies and dwarves and other things he didn’t care to name. He tried to imitate their energy, but there was a vital part of his brain missing, left behind in hell. 

“When all of this is over,” Piper commented one day, “I’m going to need some serious therapy.” 

Leo snorted, a smiled edging at his lips. He was fiddling with some copper wire, twisting and untwisting it over and over again. He never stopped moving, Percy had noticed, but it had been getting worse lately. There were always new additions to the ship appearing out of seemingly nowhere, and always new bags under his eyes. 

“There’s gotta be a demigod therapist somewhere,” Frank said, sighing. He had managed to make himself as small as possible in a seat at the dining table, his legs pulled tight against his chest. He was exhausted, having spent the afternoon fighting off the dart-feathered birds of Ares, which he said was incredibly unfair as the son of Mars. But maybe that was just another reincarnation of the stupid battle between Mars and Ares.

Jason stabbed at a sausage on his plate, not meeting any of their gazes. Ever since the Necromanteion, there was something unsettled in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t happy with having chosen his Greek side. Maybe he just couldn’t look Percy in the eyes without hating him for leaving Annabeth behind.

“There’s one in New Rome, she’s very nice. Legacy of Apollo, I think,” he said.

Piper smiled at him. “I’d like to have a long talk with her.” 

“That’s if the two camps don’t destroy each other,” Percy said, voice dry. “Can’t forget about that.” 

“Right,” Piper said, biting her lip. 

It was a sobering thought, one that all of them had been avoiding since Nico, Reyna, and Coach Hedge had left with the Athena Parthenos. They could stop the giants, stop Gaea from waking, but even then, it might be useless. The eons of hate between Greeks and Romans weren’t just going to fade away with a snap of their fingers or with the death of Gaea. 

“If anyone can get them to stop fighting, it’s Nico and Reyna,” Jason reminded them. “They’re stronger than you think.” 

Percy leaned back in his chair, lifting it onto two legs. “Sure. But maybe no one can get them to stop.” 

“Well someone’s optimistic today,” Leo muttered. 

“It’s a side effect of walking through hell.” 

“Let’s have a little faith in them,” Piper said, tapping the table with a finger. Her nails were bitten short from worry. “They’re strong.” 

“Don’t use charmspeak on me,” Percy spat. 

Frank moved a hand closer to Percy’s, as if he wanted to send a calming touch, but he was too afraid to startle him. “She’s not charmspeaking, Percy.”

Percy’s shoulders sagged under Frank’s words. “I’m sorry, Piper. I’m just tense right now.” 

“Don’t worry about it, we’ve all been a bit on edge lately,” Piper assured him, smiling. “I think it’s my turn on guard duty, I’m gonna go tap Hazel out.” 

Jason squeezed her hand as she stood, his eyes going soft when he looked at her. “Good luck, Pipes.” 

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” She shot him a quick smile before exiting the room. 

Her endless positivity was grating, too loud and bright for all the hurt behind her eyes. She fought bravely, never hesitating to defend her teammates. Percy sometimes wished she would stop, just stop fighting for one second. Just long enough to let a monster strike him. Just long enough for Percy to have the opportunity to give in. 

She never did. She was too good for that. Percy could see why Jason loved her. 

The two of them made him ache for a girl he would never touch again. They made something twist and burn inside his lungs every time they smiled at each other and every time they kissed. They had all the love in the world right next to them, all the reasons to fight for the gods. Percy had none of that. There was nothing left for him aboveground. 

The Argo II crew let him mourn alone. They let him scream himself awake and throw up after every meal and sleep with Riptide uncapped in his fist. He supposed that they were mourning in their own ways, somewhere far away from him. Piper and Annabeth had been close, Percy knew, and the others had always looked to her for guidance. 

The ship was quiet all the time, just the soft creaking of Festus and the other machines Leo tinkered at all the time. They seemed to live in silence, functioning only in a lack of something. But maybe that was just a silence that Percy carried around on his shoulders, something he brought into every room he entered. They were hesitant around him, not sure who he was now that the better part of him was gone. 

Jason tried to act like everything was normal, tried to hold the team together. But there was something irreparable about them now. Annabeth had been the heart and soul of the group and now -- now there was nothing in her place. Percy longed for her, longed to have her laugh in his ears, her eyes flitting from plan to plan as she reasoned out the end of the world. 

Sometimes he caught a glimpse of her in her cabin, or of her hair disappearing just around a corner. He would chase after the shadow in the corner of his eye, but he could never quite reach her.

He and Jason met his half-sister somewhere over the Aegean Sea. Kymopoleia and Polybotes wrapped Percy in poison, let him thrash in the ocean (Poseidon was supposed to keep him safe here, but the god didn’t even notice). 

After the poison had dissipated, Percy inhaled the salt water, closing his eyes. 

“Can we -- just for a minute. Before we go up.” 

Jason nodded, running a hand through his hair. Every fight seemed to take a little more out of Percy, seemed to carve out a little more emptiness in the hole that had been there since Tartarus. 

Percy glanced up at him, something unreadable in his eyes. “As I was choking just now, I kept thinking: this is payback for Akhlys. The Fates are letting me die the same way I tried to kill that goddess.” He hesitated, and Jason tilted his head, trying to show that he was listening. 

Percy continued. His words were slow, as if he was unsure that he should be being this authentic. “Honestly, a part of me felt I deserved it. That’s why I didn’t try to control the giant’s poison and move it away from me. That probably sounds crazy.” 

“No,” Jason said slowly. “I think I get it.” 

Percy studied him, waiting for something more, some kind of comfort or - or anything. Anything that would make Percy feel less broken. The words never came, and Percy figured that they never would. For all the bravado Jason put on, the two of them would never truly understand each other. Jason was too good and pure for that. 

And Percy -- Percy could feel the poison filtering through his veins. It wasn’t Polybotes’ poison anymore, no, it was the kind of poison that had been there since Tartarus. Since he realized that the gods would never come to save him. Since he realized he and Annabeth were alone. (And she wasn’t here, so was there anyone left in the world for him?)

“I’m ready,” he said softly, standing up. His shoes slipped slightly in the sand, but he didn't fall, and that was progress. “Let’s go check out the damage.” 

He didn't know what he expected. Jason was a good guy, but he couldn’t understand. He could try, but there weren’t rivers of fire behind his closed eyelids and there wasn’t a ghost haunting him. They rose to the surface, and that was the end of that conversation. Percy didn’t try to talk about it again. 

There were thoughts that were just for him alone. There were memories and passing ideations that belonged to him, and didn’t need to be shared with anyone else. He would keep them safe behind sealed lips. No one asked him about it, so he figured no one cared about them. They noted the silence between his words, but that was all. There was never an inkling that there could be more in the silence. 

The ship kept sailing, cutting through the water like a knife, the waves parting without protest. Percy stood at the helm of the ship, listening to Festus creak in his own language. He watched dolphins and hippocampi dart through the waves alongside the ship, as if they were an entourage keeping them safe. But he knew better -- they would scatter at danger. Percy couldn’t rely on anyone but himself. 

Except it felt like he couldn’t rely on himself anymore. 

He had dropped his sword, facing Tartarus. Riptide had fallen from his hand, and the primordial god had tossed Annabeth away like she was a fly on the wall. He had faltered, when he had stumbled out of the elevator, and he had let the others fight while he just tried to breathe through the sobs. 

He had faltered again, just while sparring with Frank. Frank had swung his sword and it flashed in the light at just the right angle and Percy couldn’t breathe. He fell backwards, and sweat coated his palms, every flight instinct in his bones telling him he was back in that pit, back at the vacant mercy of a million immortal monsters. 

He had slashed out at Frank when he tried to come closer, tried to help him. There was a long cut across his cheek, and even after the ambrosia had healed it, Percy could still see the shadow of it on his pale skin. 

He distanced himself from the others. He didn’t want to hurt them. 

They were afraid of him too-- what had he done, in order to survive Tartarus? What horrors had he committed?

They met the giants in Athens. The snake-people led them there. They fought. 

Percy felt like a demon. 

He killed without mercy. His sword was just an extension of his fingers, slick with the dust of every monster he killed. He slashed and jabbed and cut with a vengeance, an anger that he had never felt before. He screamed and it ripped through his throat like a knife against sandpaper. The monsters scattered before him -- they all knew his name. Perseus Jackson, the one who survived Tartarus.

There would be no mercy from him. There would be no requiem or elegy, there would just be a celestial bronze sword and the flash of sea green eyes. All the monsters could rot in hell for all he cared. They could rot where her body was, resting with the last bit of his humanity.

The gods showed up, the same way that they always did: at the last minute, ready to claim the victory. Frank and Mars were basking in a flickering red aura, the monsters soaked in fear when they came too close. Jason and Jupiter fought as a team, lightning just another weapon in a war against the earth. Hazel and Pluto slipped in and out of shadows and mist, alien ghosts who didn’t quite fit into the scene, but didn’t quite belong anywhere else. Piper fought with a knife that flashed like her kaleidoscope eyes, and Aphrodite whispered sweet murder into the ears of giants who didn’t know the difference between her songs and Gaea’s voice. 

Poseidon fought next to Percy, his trident twice as tall as Percy was. He was an ocean, begging to be set free, crashing against a shore that wasn’t ready to be beaten into submission (oh, but it would be). 

They fought as a team, Percy stabbing and slashing as Poseidon flew in circles around the giants, his chariot pulled by sea green horses. He was more powerful than he had ever been, with his father standing beside him. The giants faltered under their grasp, stumbling over Riptide -- the current that swept you off your feet before you even knew it was there. There was nothing that could stand against the eternal strength of the sea. 

Poseidon wanted to say something, after. He tried to talk to Percy, give him some kind of comfort in the aftermath. Maybe he would give a word of encouragement, or a godly blessing while the last of the monsters disintegrated. He reached out a hand to touch Percy’s shoulder. 

“Percy,” he started, his voice as gentle as the waves lapping against a jagged cliff’s edge. “You’ve done well, my son. I - I’m proud of you.” 

Percy just stared at him. Once, he might’ve blushed under the praise, might have embraced it with welcome arms. But the words sounded hollow coming from a god who hadn’t even tried to save his son. 

Percy couldn’t see himself in his eyes anymore (or maybe he could now more than ever, and that was just as terrifying). Poseidon opened his mouth again, ready to speak courage into existence, ready to promise that everything would be alright, it was over, this was it, this was the final threat, and the gods had won once again. 

Percy walked away. 

He was beginning to understand Luke. The bitterness that had been in Luke’s eyes was beginning to be reflected in Percy’s eyes. His anger festered in his fingers the same way, itching to be let loose on the world. His sword fighting style had shifted, all his defense becoming pure offense. He wasn’t fighting to stay alive, he was fighting for revenge. He wanted to kill and he wanted to hurt and he wanted every last monster to pay for what they had done.

Luke had hated the gods, hated their ignorance and obliviousness. He had hated that they didn’t care. He had wanted a real family, not a dysfunctional mess of immortals. He had wanted a father that could protect him from a mother with visions of golden-eyed titans. He had wanted a heaven that wasn’t down below. 

Percy was pretty sure that he would join Luke, if he asked now. The gods didn’t care about this world or its people. They didn’t deserve to live forever. 

_ “Do you fight for the gods because they’re good, or because they’re your family?” _

He stayed loyal because he had no choice. Because the gods made him. Because he’d seen what they did to revolutions, he’d seen what he himself would do to a revolution.

On the logical side, the Titan War hadn’t just been a revolution. It had been more than that, it had been a destruction. It had been taking the Western world and undoing it. It had been killing without a second thought and with all the leisure in the world. The Titans and giants weren’t good, but -- the gods weren’t either. Why did this cursed world have to settle for the lesser of three evils?

Sometimes a world needed to be destroyed in order to rebuild it. In order to make it better, all the roots of evil needed to be discarded, needed to be pulled up and broken. Maybe Luke had been right, and the gods were like weeds growing in the garden of humanity, choking all the beautiful things. 

He was beginning to wonder how long that anger had been inside of him, burning just underneath his skin, waiting to be let out.


	2. Chapter 2

Summer ended. It always ended eventually. The giants sunk back into the earth, the camps reconciled, and the demigods went back to their daily lives (they all pretended that they weren’t training harder and they weren’t staying awake at night). The air started getting colder, a sudden bite to the wind. 

Percy went home, to the little apartment on the Eastside. His mother kept a gun in the house, specially fitted for celestial bronze bullets. There were twice as many monsters looking for him, wanting to be the one who killed Percy Jackson. He slept with one eye open, each creak of the floorboards running like lightning into his fingertips. The house was always thick with the tension of waiting for the next monster. Chiron made him Iris message every Sunday, just to make sure that he had survived another seven days. 

Part of him wanted to stop calling, wanted to just disappear into the wild and never come back again. He could do it, just leave and never come back. Walk into the ocean, find a reef or a cave and let himself stay there until he rotted from starvation.

But he couldn’t do that to his mother. He couldn’t hurt her anymore than he already had (her crying when he came home, the anger at his torture, the fragile aching of her miscarriage-- it all stung deep in his bones). So he went to high school.

The hallways smelled like sweat and Red Bull, and the food tasted like cardboard. It was alienating, to be in a world where the worst thing that was possible was missed homework, and the only consequences were detention. Percy wanted to scream at all of them, wanted to break something, tell them that the world was a horrible place, that prom didn’t matter because they were already so close to dying. 

Every time someone yelled out in the hallway, a shout of surprise or laughter when a boyfriend tackled them from behind, Percy flinched. Every instinct was in overdrive, some part of him still in Tartarus, breathing in poison and on guard against the very heartbeat in the ground. When a teacher tapped a ruler on his desk, he grabbed her wrist, _ “Don’t come near me with that, it could sting or stab or poison - ” _

It was always just a ruler, but - but what if it wasn’t? What if it was another talon or a spike? His hands moved on their own, and he lashed out with the same kind of trauma as a child soldier. He supposed that was what he was. 

His Classics teacher, Ms. Acre, was obsessed with Greek mythology. He supposed that made sense, considering her job. She thought it was the height of human ingenuity. She made them read the Odyssey, and write essays on the strength of the human spirit. 

Percy never turned his in. There was no strength in the human spirit. There was only Fate and the aching exhaustion in a human’s bones as the gods sent them on endless journeys. Odysseus fought his way across the world, just trying to get home. He just wanted to rest. But that wasn’t a choice, not for Athena’s hero. (Percy fucking hated Athena.)

Ms. Acre tried to get him to work, to study harder. “Ancient civilizations are important,” she said, and her smile was thick with lipstick and non-understanding. “They’re the foundation of everything you want to do in the future.”

He just shrugged. He wasn’t sure why it was important if he was just going to die soon. He had walked into Camp Half-Blood at twelve years old, clutching the Minotaur’s horn and crying, and he had learned one thing, one vital thing: _ he will not survive this. _

Whether it was his first quest, or the thousandth favor he’d done for a god, he would not survive being a demigod. They didn't live to grow old, to have jobs and have families. They just died. 

He had a little more hope after their quest in the Labyrinth, when they had met Quintus and Eurytion, the first adult demigods Percy had heard of. He had even more hope after visiting New Rome and exploring the city and the university and the children who had been born there. He had made plans to grow up there, study at university and give up the fear that sucked up his life in the mortal world. 

But then - then he had lost Annabeth, and if she couldn’t survive, who was Percy to even think about growing old? She was - had been - the strongest person Percy had ever known, her bravery was the kind of courage that had leaked into his bones, filling him with confidence when they were losing the war. If she had died, then who was Percy to have any hope for himself? 

“If we are to learn anything from literature,” Ms. Acre kept saying, “it is that we must always have hope.” 

Percy had almost laughed out loud at that one. There was no hope for heroes in this world. Even the bravest ones died in a flame of anger-- Hercules had burnt to death, uprooting the very earth as he died, Bellerophon was thrown from the sky so harshly that his bones shattered, Achilles, the best of the Greeks, fell at the whisper of Apollo’s arrow. They might live on in legends, but that’s not a comfort nor a hope to the shades milling underground. 

There was no hope for any of them. Percy had decided that long ago, somewhere under the earth near a fiery river. Humans weren’t strong, no matter how much immortal blood ran in their veins. They shouldn’t have hope, no matter how kind they believe the gods are. Humans were made to be broken. It was a game, to all the higher powers, to break each hero. And the gods always won. 

He spent his time in school counting down the seconds until he could go home. Maybe his teachers noticed, but they didn’t seem to care. They brushed off his scars as childhood adventures, they ignored his bathroom panic attacks like he was another kid with test anxiety, they rolled their eyes at every flinch like he was just a broken future drop out.

Or maybe they just didn’t see. Maybe the Mist covered up all of that as well. Not only were mortals unable to see the monsters, but they didn’t see the broken mess that they left behind. It would make sense. They couldn’t see the cause, so there was no reason to see the effect. When he died, they would brush that off too-- a car accident, or a hit-and-run, or alcohol poisoning.

Ms. Acre had two theories about mythology. The first was that the monsters in Greek mythology were metaphors for the true horrors of the world. The gods overthrew the Titans as a symbol of the new dawning of the Hellenic era. Hades stole Persephone as an allegory for death taking springtime.

The second theory was that myths brought the ancients comfort against all the unknowns in the world. The sun carved its way across the sky every night because Apollo or Helios drove his chariot there. There was jealousy and plague and famine in the world because Pandora was too curious. It was comforting, she thought, to have an explanation. 

She shared those theories to Percy one day, when he was especially exhausted and angry.

“All these myths were their way of comforting themselves in the face of science they didn’t understand,” she had said to him. Her eyes twinkled as if she thought she was being smart. 

Percy glared at her, something twitching in his left eye. “Or maybe there are just vicious monsters in the world and the Greeks were terrified of them.” 

“Monsters aren’t real,” she said with a laugh. “Now stop daydreaming and start working on that essay.” 

He wished he were daydreaming. He wished all of this -- all the hurting and crying and dying, all the gods and monsters -- he wished all of it were a dream. Just a game he had thought up in his head to pass the time. Just a way to pretend that he was important. 

But then there was a sphinx on the subway when Percy tried to get home, and there was a fresh scar on his forearm, and he knew it wasn’t a daydream. He wouldn’t dream about the tears that slicked his cheeks when the sphinx’s claw struck his skin. He wouldn’t dream about the blood ruining his favorite shirt. He wouldn’t dream about the fact that he was always so goddamn afraid. 

He made it home and his mother pulled the bandages and ambrosia from the cabinet above the bathroom sink. Paul watched her work, a hand on Percy’s good shoulder. He would be the one to stitch his stepson up when Sally wasn’t home, and he needed to know how much ambrosia would keep Percy from disintegrating on the spot. Percy didn’t really care how much he took; he ate it greedily, and figured there were worse ways to die. 

“What was it this time?” Sally asked. Her voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of fear behind each of her words. She took the squares of ambrosia away from him, a warning look in her eyes. He was addicted to the stuff, Sally thought, and she refused him more than a square for injuries she could fix herself. 

“Sphinx,” Percy told her. He hadn’t told her these things, not at first, but she told him lying was worse. She would rather know the danger he was in rather than make believe he was always safe. 

Paul frowned. “Like the one Oedipus fought?”

“More violent than that,” Percy amended. “But yeah.” 

“Huh.” Paul didn’t seem fazed by it, more so confused that Sophocles hadn’t been accurate. “Did you answer a riddle?” 

“No,” Percy told him, words blunt and dry. “I just killed it.” 

“Paul, honey, will you grab me the disinfectant?” Sally asked, smiling at him. Paul nodded, still turning the information over in his mind. He was used to it by now, the reality of Percy’s world. But that didn’t mean he could grasp how ancient and true it really was. It caught him off guard, sometimes, the way that Percy was killing things that literary icons had killed. 

Percy guessed that when he died, Paul would finally accept it and wrap his head around how dangerous it really was. Oedipus hadn’t been a hero for fighting the sphinx, he had just been a man on the brink of death, trying to talk his way out of it. When Percy died, that would sink in. There was no glory in constantly being afraid. 

His guidance counselor asked about the newest bandage on his arm. The cut would go away in a day or two, if his mother let him have any ambrosia. But for now, there was an ugly bandage, and Mr. Ellis was already so suspicious of Percy. 

“You can come to me about anything, Percy,” he said, tapping a pen on his desk. “But I need you to tell me the truth.” 

Percy just shrugged. “It was nothing. I fell and scraped my arm on a rock.” 

It wasn’t a believable lie, but he didn’t care. The truth wasn’t believable either. Mr. Ellis sent him back to class with the latest reminder that he needed to bring his grades up. Percy didn’t have any plans to do that. He just wanted to get through the day, finish counting down the seconds until he was home.

When he finally got home, he uncapped his sword and dragged a chair to the front door. He sat down, staring at the wooden boards and waited. There was a little peephole he couldn’t see through from his position, but if there were too loud a noise he knew he could use it. At every creak of the stairs, he swallowed down his battlecries and waited. No monsters came that night, but he knew that one day they would come.

Sally just sighed when she got home and saw him, just standing there, hands out and eyes wild. She set the groceries down on the floor, a hand out, as if she were calming a wild animal. 

“Put the sword down, Percy.” He bit his lip, but did as she said. She nodded slowly, lowering her arms. “Come help me make dinner.” 

He followed her to the kitchen, capping Riptide and sticking it in his pocket. He might have lowered his guard just slightly, but he wasn’t stupid enough to go anywhere without it, even for the few seconds it would take to reappear in his pocket. 

“We’re just going to make asopao,” she told him. “Chicken, no seafood. The way you like it.” 

Sally handed him the clay bowl, and he took it without protest, examining the etchings on the side. Owls. 

“Annabeth made this,” Percy said softly. The words were barely a ghost of a sentence, but his mother froze anyways. He ran his finger across the birds, the ridges rough against his fingerprints. You probably wouldn’t have known they were owls, not unless you had memorized the same doodles in the margins of every draft paper in the apartment. Not unless you had spent countless hours watching the hand that drew them, cataloguing the strokes of a pencil like they were a currency. 

“She did,” Sally told him. It had been a gift for Mother’s Day, to the woman who had treated her like her own child, through everything that had happened. Sally had cried when she got it. 

“I don’t want to use it.” 

Sally took a deep breath. She wanted to comfort her son, wanted to remind him that it was just a bowl, it wasn’t Annabeth. She wanted to tell him that it’s a bowl that was meant to be used, and they couldn’t stop using bowls because Annabeth had touched them, but -

She couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

She didn’t want to use the bowl either. Annabeth had touched the owls on the sides, and she couldn’t bring herself to wash the fingerprints off of them. There were so few left. 

“Okay,” was all she said. 

They made dinner in a different pan. Paul came home to the smell of chicken and cilantro and garlic. He didn’t comment on the oddly shaped bowls they used, he just complimented their cooking skills and moved on. There was a fourth seat at the table, one that had been used while Percy was in New Rome. They all pointedly kept their gazes away from it. 

“I miss her,” Percy said into his food. He wasn’t eating, just moving the vegetables around in his bowl. He had used to love his mother’s cooking, but everything tasted like sand to him now, like the world had lost all flavor. 

Sally looked at him, eyes soft as she studied his tired expression. “Me too.” 

He managed to pull himself out of bed every morning and make the trek to school. His teachers berated him for being a few minutes late, and he couldn’t explain that there had been a harpy on his way to the subway, so he just took the tardy slip. He went to detention after every three tardies, and didn’t complain. He didn’t talk much in school. It wasn’t worth it to make friends with mortals. They were all afraid of him, him and the dark brooding look that came over his eyes whenever anyone looked at him the wrong way. 

Ms. Acre made him write another essay, to make up for the one he refused to turn in. “An extra credit writing project,” she claimed. It was simple: write about the importance of “The Odyssey.” It only had to be two pages long, double spaced, and Percy could have written it if he had anything to say. 

“I don’t want to talk about Greek mythology,” he told her. “I’m not going to write this.” 

“Then you can fail the class, Percy. Neither of us want that.” She smiled at him, as if that was supposed to be encouraging.

Percy shook his head. “I don’t care. This class doesn’t matter.” 

“This unit, the literature of the ancient world -- it’s the flame of Western civilization. This is what started it all.” She patted his arm and he flinched. “You can’t exist in this society without knowing about ancient works.” 

He sat at his laptop in his room, staring down the screen. His mother would be so disappointed in him if he failed this class. He had been kicked out of so many schools that he wasn’t sure if there were any other options left. The laptop keys were alien under his fingertips.

_ “The Odyssey” by Homer is a horrible book. Odysseus shouldn’t have fought so hard to get to Ithaca. The gods were never going to let him go home and rest. Greek mythology is cruel to everyone involved, and we shouldn’t encourage it. We should just let it fade away. _


	3. Chapter 3

Percy went to camp over winter break. There wasn’t any snow, and the sun still beat down heavily on the campers. Strawberries dotted the hills, flush and red against the green vines. They were like dark spots in his vision, flickering at his anger. 

He and Grover laid in the fields, facing the sun. Grover was rarely at camp anymore, being so busy doing Lord of the Wild things. He came back after the Giant War, his empathy link with Percy driving him insane. Percy made him undo it, not wanting Grover to deal with the overwhelming waves of emotion. No one should have to bear that. 

“Every time I look out of the corner of my eye, I see her,” Grover said. His voice was soft, but it felt alien and grown up compared to the satyr Percy had known when he was twelve. 

“Me too.” 

Percy closed his eyes, feeling the sun fall onto his tanned and scarred skin. Ambrosia could heal demigods better than medicine, but healing didn’t mean fixing scars, it just meant sealing the cuts back together. Healing meant fixing a broken bone after a fight, not fixing all the pieces of you that broke with it. 

Grover’s voice was drained when he spoke again. “How did she die, Perce?” 

Percy didn’t answer. 

He wanted to tear the fucking sun out of the sky. 

He wanted to topple all the light in the world, tear down the clouds and stars and planets. If he couldn’t have his one hope in his world, then the rest of the universe didn’t deserve it. The gods didn’t deserve all that power they had, all the potential just hovering at their fingertips. They didn’t use it for good. Why should Apollo get to drive the sun? For all the light he owned, none of it reached the darkest evils in the universe. He wasn’t doing enough. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” was all Percy said. 

“You don’t have to,” Grover promised him. He sighed, his arms rising and falling as they rested on his stomach. He was wearing a “Save the Earth” t-shirt, and Percy was reminded of how hopeful they had been when they were younger. They had thought they could be heroes, could change the world, save the earth. 

Percy hated the earth. He hated the ground they walked on, the sky that watched them, and all the darkness below them. He wanted to tear it all down, build something without darkness and without consciousness. He wanted to be able to step on the dirt without waiting for it to sink below his feet and swallow him. He wanted this-- he wanted to lie down in the strawberry fields with his best friend, but he didn’t want to think about how broken everything was. 

Maybe it was the juxtaposition between Gaea’s war and Grover’s stupid, hopeful tie-dye t-shirt, or maybe it was just the endless fear in Percy’s lungs, but he couldn’t help regretting ever growing up. He should have stayed that twelve year old kid who thought the scariest thing he would ever do was going to the Underworld. He should have stayed that hopeful child who just wanted the scary blonde to laugh at his jokes. 

The sunlight faded, and the two parted ways. Grover went to visit Juniper, and Percy took the long way round to the Poseidon cabin. It still looked the same as it did when he was twelve. It was filled with five empty bunk beds, and one with unmade blankets and a pillow with seashells printed on the fabric. 

Bronze hippocampi hung from the ceiling, their rainbow shine flickering against the walls. Percy collapsed in his bed, staring at the top bunk above him. He was glad that he was the only inhabitant of the cabin, now. That way he didn’t wake anyone up with his nightmares every night. The rest of the cabin didn’t deserve to have to listen to him sleep talk about hell, about the flames and the rivers and the monsters. He didn’t want to subject anyone to that. 

It was still impossibly lonely. There were ghosts flitting through his mind, holograms of Annabeth laughing at him from one of the empty bunks. They had slow danced here one night, listening to the hush of the waves. She had laughed into his shoulder, her grip tight in his hands. She had felt so solid back then, so real, that Percy almost sobbed at the memory. 

Chiron had welcomed him back to camp after the final fight and walked him to his cabin. He had said that Percy was safe here. There were no monsters who could hurt him, he was home. But it didn’t feel safe. It didn’t feel like home. Not without Annabeth there. Not without stupid three a.m. slow dances and tossing each other in the canoe lake and racing each other to Half-Blood Hill or the top of the climbing wall. 

It didn’t feel like home even when he was surrounded by other friends. Sword fighting classes weren’t the same when people didn’t meet his eyes, archery lessons didn’t feel the same when the Apollo kids refused to touch his arm in order to correct his form. 

The rules had changed after the peace treaty between Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter, and they were allowed to sit wherever they wanted at meals. But still, no one sat with him. The Stoll brothers didn’t ask to play pranks with him, and Clarisse didn’t pick any fights. He almost begged her to, just for an excuse to fight someone and let go of the tight anger in his chest. But she never did. They all left him alone. No one picked him for the Capture the Flag team, even though he was arguably the strongest fighter in the camp. No one wanted him near them. He was too dangerous. 

If he thought about it, he didn’t blame them. 

He was isolated at both camp and in the mortal world. People didn’t want to talk to someone who had the haunted look in his eyes that Percy had. He wasn’t the easy going demigod he had been before the wars. He was just - just broken, now. Unapproachable. 

Nico was the only one who could even come close to understanding, but he was on a quest for Chiron with Will Solace. Piper and Jason were constantly busy with pontifex work. 

The only ones who tried to contact him were Hazel and Frank, but even they had other things on their minds. (Percy was the only one who could focus solely on all the pain in the world, all the sacrifices that really meant nothing to monsters who were reborn over and over again.)

They still Iris messaged him every other week, between their duties at camp and their tense relationship. They broke up after the Giant War, Percy knew, and they were working on staying friends. It was almost sweet, how gently they treated each other. 

“We’re still trying to find a new Augur,” Hazel updated him one night. Her smile was soft as she told him about recent events. “No one’s really jumping to take Octavian’s place.”

“We can loan you Rachel and Ella sometimes, if you want,” Percy said, trying for a smile. He hadn't spoken to Rachel in weeks. He was pretty sure that she knew more about his experience in Tartarus than she let on, and he didn’t want to talk to her about it. 

Frank shrugged. “I’m perfectly happy with no prophecies for a while.” 

“You can say that again,” Hazel said, a real smile at the corners of her lips. “I think all the legionnaires are ready for a break. The number of people who retired this year is crazy.” 

“Don’t you have to serve ten years before you retire?” Percy asked, tilting his head. 

Frank nodded, something sad in his eyes. “A lot of people stay longer though, and I guess everyone who had served more than ten and were just staying for the hell of it decided they were done.” 

“Fighting isn’t anything like what they thought they signed up for,” Percy said softly. 

“Yeah,” Hazel agreed, glancing between him and Frank. “Like, you find out your parent is a god, and you think everything must be great, because you have a god looking down on you...And then you join the legion and learn to fight and you think you’re so strong, and then -- then you’re standing across a fifteen year old kid and told you have to kill him, for real. However much we train and pretend to fight, you -- you can’t prepare for that.” 

Percy swallowed down the lump in his throat, thinking about the Titan War, fighting against kids. He remembered Ethan Nakamura, who had believed so strongly in justice, with his poison knife and a determined fear in his eyes. He remembered the sound of Riptide’s hilt smashing into the metal of Ethan’s helmet, and the sound of Ethan’s knees hitting the ground when he fell unconscious. 

There were others, too-- a girl who had come at him gripping a sword hilt her hand didn’t quite fit around yet, a younger boy who had thrown a spear and found himself weaponless against Percy and his iron skin, a girl who couldn’t have been older than him who rode a skeletal horse until it disintegrated underneath her. 

“You okay, Percy?” Frank asked, eyes soft. His eyes were always soft and kind, despite the almost alien growth spurt Mars had given him. 

Percy nodded. “Just thinking.” 

“What about?” Hazel prompted. 

She was always trying to get him to talk and share what he was thinking about. She said it would help. Percy figured that she knew what she was talking about, her own flashbacks having gone away when she had brought Frank along. But she respected his hesitance, too, and Percy was thankful for that.

“The Titan War,” he said, the words almost catching in his throat. “I don’t know what happened, with the Romans. But for us, there were demigods on the -- the bad side. We had to -- to fight them, and there were no time-outs or water breaks. No pulling your punches. Just -- people who were once friends, staring at you from Kronos’ army.” 

Frank frowned. “That must’ve been hard.” 

“Yeah,” Percy murmured. He shook his head, as if shaking off the memories. “It’s over now. Nothing we can do about it.” 

There was so much that he couldn’t do anything about. He was supposed to be the hero of these great prophecies and quests, but he was still so entirely helpless. He couldn’t bring all of those demigods to the gods’ side. He couldn’t keep Leo from flying into the sky with Gaea in Festus’ talons. He couldn’t -- he couldn’t save Annabeth. 

He could save the gods a hundred million times, Percy thought, but he couldn’t be a hero when he had let her slip away. 

“It’s the price of being a hero during a war,” Chiron had told him once, after the Titan War. Percy had found himself in the Big House, sitting at the ping pong table, thinking about Michael Yew, who had sat there with him only a few days ago. 

“What is?” Percy had asked, not meeting his eyes. 

“You can’t always save everyone.” 

Percy raised his head, trying not to feel too disheartened at his words. 

Chiron continued. “Everyone thinks that they can. Hercules thought he was invincible, but he couldn’t keep Hylas from being kidnapped and drowning. Achilles thought there was no one he couldn’t beat. But for all his strength, he couldn’t save Patroclus, the one person who meant the most to him. Even the god Apollo thought he had found a love to last a lifetime, but Hyacinthus died young.” 

Percy swallowed, staring at the empty seats scattered around the table. There was a knife at one corner, and a ping pong racket at the other. Beckendorf had sat at this table, arm over the back of Silena’s chair. Michael Yew had sat here, rolling his eyes at Clarisse, and before him, Lee Fletcher had done the same. Percy could sit here at this ping pong table for a thousand nights, just listing the names of everyone who had died. 

“Well someone’s optimistic today,” Percy said, the sarcasm dripping from his tongue. 

Chiron smiled wanly. “Side effect of living for a millennia. My point is that, however brave you are, there’s always someone you can’t get to in time. If you kill yourself after every death, you’ll never be able to appreciate all the lives you saved.” 

“I guess.” 

But blaming himself was a habit that Percy didn’t think would ever truly go away. The ache of responsibility would always be there, humming at the back of his mind. You could have done better, it said, you could have saved them. You were supposed to. You were supposed to be a hero. It rang constantly, an undertone to every quest he went on. He would never be good or strong enough to save everyone, and that killed him.

Part of him wondered if he should have accepted Zeus’ offer to become a god. All-knowing, all-powerful. He could do the things the other gods refused to do. He could have helped kill the giants and he could have saved his friends and he could bring Annabeth back from the dead. 

(Except, you didn’t have to be a god to bring someone back from the dead, did you?)

Nico and Will came back from their quest on a Saturday, the day before Percy left camp to go back home. They seemed happy, a smile dancing around Nico’s lips that Percy hadn’t seen since Nico was - what? Ten? Eleven? Percy couldn’t remember. All he knew was that it had been too long. 

Nico walked Will to the Apollo cabin before heading off to his own cabin. He had started spending a lot more time there, since the Giant War, having promised Jason he would stay. Percy wondered how much of that was because of Will.

He leaned against the wall of the Hades cabin, the roof shading him from the sun. 

“Hey,” he said softly when Nico reached him. “How was your quest?” 

Nico frowned, immediately on guard. “It was fine. What - what’s up?” His voice was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how to talk casually with Percy. Percy didn’t notice (it wasn’t like anyone knew how to talk to him anymore). 

“I need a favor.” 

Nico narrowed his eyes. “What do you need?” 

“I need you to bring her back,” Percy said, voice steel. 

“I can’t do that.” Nico took a step back, hands stiff in the pockets of his jacket.

“Yes, you can,” Percy hissed. He just -- he needed to see one her one last time, he needed to apologize and cry and mourn and -- and all the things he couldn’t do now. He knew that Nico could do it. He had seen the son of Hades do it before, with the silver outlines of his sister and the ghost of an ancient king. “You can.” 

Nico took another step back, his eyes flitting from the door of the cabin to Percy’s hard gaze. “It’s not good for you. You know that.” 

Percy shook his head. He didn’t care about that, he didn’t care if it killed him, he just needed to look into her eyes and tell her how goddamn sorry he was. “I don’t give a fuck. Bring her back, let me see her, I need this, Nico, please.”

“You have to let go,” Nico said softly.

Percy glared at him, eyes narrowing, his throat choked up with something angry and tired and so, so lonely. “I don’t care, Nico -- what if it was Will? What if it was Will who was gone, and you could see him one last - gods, Nico.” He stepped forward, a hand tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands like it could pull all the pain out. “Bianca. You spent months trying to bring her back, you fucking hypocrite, you tried to bring her back, so I know you understand. Let me -- just let me -- one more time. Please. Just one more -- ”

“I was ten,” Nico said, hands reaching out. “I was ten and I didn’t know any better. You were the one who showed me that I needed to let go. I’m going to tell you the same.” 

Percy let loose a sob, the stinging noise at his throat scalding. He stumbled backwards, hitting the wall of the Hades cabin. “How did you stand it?” he whispered. His voice cracked and he could feel pieces of himself crashing to the ground like raindrops. 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Nico confessed. “Some days I can’t stand it.”

Percy slid down the wall until he was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to push the tears back into his eye sockets. Maybe he could control them, like he had to the goddess of misery. Maybe he could torture himself into submission, until he stopped crying and hurting and dying inside. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Nico said quietly, crouching next to him. “I promise it’s going to get better.” 

Percy shook his head. “You can’t promise that.” He took a deep breath, wiping his eyes with the side of his hand. “Gods, I’m a mess.” 

“Yeah, you are.” 

Percy laughed hollowly, coughing on the tears he didn’t want to cry. He tossed his head back, glaring at the sun for watching and doing nothing. “I don’t know if I can stand a world without her.” 

“You will,” Nico murmured. Somewhere far, far away, a conch shell sounded. 

“Come on,” he said, reaching out a hand to help Percy up. Percy took it, wishing horribly that he had been able to reach it all those months ago. “It’s lunchtime.” 

Percy followed him to the pavilion. Nico split off to sit at the Apollo table, where he now sat with Will. Percy sat alone at a table in the back, where he didn’t talk to anyone and no one bothered to give him a second glance. He wasn’t hungry. 

The general din of the pavilion faded to white noise as Percy held his head in his hands. Chiron had started requiring that he show up for meals, after being so worried about how much weight he had lost. But sitting in the dining pavilion didn’t mean that he had to eat. 

He just sat there for the time being, watching the darkness behind his closed eyes. He hated it. He wanted to suck all of the darkness out of the world, wanted to flood the world with a light that hit even the shadows. He never wanted to think about nighttime and its palaces ever again. 

He took a deep breath. He’s safe. He’s alive. He’s sitting in Camp Half-Blood, where the only evil is the Stoll brothers leaving a tarantula in the Athena cabin. He’s safe, and it’s daytime, and he’s in the open air pavilion, and he’s not in Tartarus. 

(He’s alone.)


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark, in Tartarus, in that hell. The ground seemed to beat and melt and grow under their feet, and Percy could never get a solid stance. Veins ran under the thin membrane of a ground, and they would pop and burst at random moments, fire and poison splashing onto their cheeks. 

Annabeth’s face was dotted with bruises and cuts, beads of sweat glittering at her temple (she was beautiful and Percy was memorizing the cut of her jawline, just in case). The two carved their way across Tartarus with a kind of determination only the suicidal know. Every breath was a struggle and every step was a fight. 

“We’re almost there,” Annabeth said. Even if it wasn’t true, she said it on repeat, like it was a promise or a prayer (none of the gods were listening, so Percy figured it was the former). “We’re almost there.” 

Percy gripped her hand like it was a lifeline, his other hand tight around Riptide. The faint glow of the blade was the only real light down there, and Percy was following it like a moth to a flame. 

Annabeth’s breaths were ragged and slow, but every one was music to Percy’s ears. They were a blessing. It meant she was still alive, still there with him. 

I love you, she had told him, when they were falling. He wasn’t sure that she meant for him to hear it, but he had, and the words were carved in his mind like a brand. She loved him. They weren’t safe by any means, but they were together and that meant they could survive anything. 

They had been fighting together since they were twelve, he remembered. Twelve years old -- they had been pimple-faced sixth graders, afraid of the dark and the shadows, fighting with each other based on their parents’ rivalries. Twelve years old-- before they realized that the greatest threats weren’t hellhounds, but deities whose names they weren’t even supposed to say.

They had survived everything that had come at them, fighting together. Annabeth was a part of him, someone he knew better than himself. He knew which side she would dodge when she fought before she did it. He knew the shape of her smile without looking, he knew the pulse of her heart without listening. 

It would be nice, he thought, to know the pulse of her heart without being terrified that it would stop. It would be nice to look at her smile without praying that it wasn’t going to be the last one.

“When we get out of here, I think I’m going to retire from heroism,” Percy told her, trying for a smile. With the death mist wrapped around his lips, he was pretty sure it came out as more of a grimace. 

Annabeth squeezed his hand anyways. “Me too. The gods can suck it up and deal with their problems by themselves for a while.” 

“It wouldn’t kill them to try,” Percy agreed. He slipped on a spot where the rivers had doused the ground, and grabbed for her shoulder. 

“Don’t go dying on me now,” she said, pulling him up again. “Gods, I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“You’re never gonna have to find out,” he promised. Even with the death mist, her eyes had that same shine of intelligence, and the same bravery was etched into her lips. “I promise.” 

She smiled at him, and there was something beautifully safe in that smile, some haven that he knew he could always come home to. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he said.

It didn’t seem right to say that to each other for the first time to each other in this hellscape. Saying I love you was too pure of a moment for it to belong in Tartarus. They deserved somewhere beautiful to say these things, instead of clinging to it like a lifeline from hell to the land of the sun. 

“Tell me about New Rome,” Annabeth said. Her hand was warm in his, but it was a different warm than the heat of Tartarus. It was kind rather than scalding. 

Percy nodded. Walking was a weight, and each step was another pain in his muscles. “It’s a complete town for demigods and legacies. There are restaurants and coffee shops and apartments. They have a university there, too. I was thinking we could go there, after everything is done. Live in peaceful times.” 

“I think I’d like that,” Annabeth said quietly. Ahead of them, a vein in the ground burst into a poisonous spray. She flinched, but didn’t let go of his hand. “I’d like to go to university without worrying about dying.” 

“What would you study?” 

She smiled, nudging his shoulder. “Nine years and you still don’t know the answer to that question?” 

“Okay, okay,” he said, giving her an affectionate glance. “Architecture it is, then.” 

“There you go.” 

“You did a good job with Olympus,” Percy told her. “I don’t know how much more studying you need to do.” 

She shrugged. Her drakon bone sword seemed to absorb the light, the scratched blade so white it practically glowed. “There’s always more to learn.”

“Fair enough.” 

“I could design a Greek version of New Rome,” Annabeth said. Her tone was careful, as if she didn’t want to cross a line, but she was too excited about the idea not to say anything. “New Athens. Somewhere in Camp Half-Blood.” 

“Would there be coffee shops?” Percy asked, keeping his eyes trained ahead. There were monsters ahead, walking in the same direction they were. To the land of the living. “And can there be fountains and parks to sit at? Maybe a swimming pool?” 

“Why do you need a swimming pool when there’s already a lake?” 

Percy chuckled, a light sound in this red-tinted hell. “I dunno. Just an idea.” 

“I’ll build a swimming pool,” Annabeth told him. Then her voice turned quiet. “Percy. Up ahead. You see that?” 

Percy squinted, frowning at the landscape in front of him. Before he could tell her he didn’t see anything, his eyes widened. “The hydra.” 

“Brings back good memories,” Annabeth said, voice hard. “Percy, if we have to fight anything here, will it -- will it die? Will we be able to kill it? This is where things are resurrected -- what if we can’t kill anything here?” 

Percy swallowed. He didn’t have any answer for her, and he hated that. He wanted to say that it would be fine, they could fight as they always did, and they could win. But he didn’t know if that was true. Maybe she was right (she usually was). 

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know.” 

Annabeth raised her chin, lifting her sword. “Time to find out,” she said, nodding at the hydra. 

It had stopped walking forward, turning around to face them. Its nine heads reared as it looked straight at them, the lime green eyes narrowing. One of the heads shook, spewing acid to the sides. 

“Since when can it see through the Death Mist?” Percy muttered bitterly. 

“It has eighteen eyes,” Annabeth pointed out. 

Percy sighed. He steadied Riptide in front of him, reluctantly letting go of Annabeth’s hand. “Okay. What’s our plan?” 

“We have to burn the necks after we cut off a head,” Annabeth said. She thought over every word twice before she said it. “We need fire. Where do we get fire?” 

“We’re surrounded by hellfire,” Percy said. “We’re also running out of time here.” 

The Hydra was advancing quickly, its eighteen eyes looking straight at them. The other monsters didn’t appear to have taken notice of them, ignoring the hydra as it came at a run towards Percy and Annabeth. Such a large monster shouldn’t be able to move as fast as the hydra did, but it didn’t appear to care about logic. 

“Okay,” Percy muttered. “Cut off the heads, burn the neck with fire. Hope it dies. Problem solved.” 

Annabeth smirked, his dry sarcasm always making her smile, even in hell. “Easy peasy.” 

The hydra roared, spitting acid at every side, the diamond-shaped heads stretching towards them. The tail came from behind, the spiked end whipping through the air. Percy and Annabeth rolled the either side, avoiding the bite down as the hydra growled again.

Percy came up on his knee, narrowly avoiding on the heads as it tried to bite at him. The nine heads were reaching out to either side, trying to bite at Percy and Annabeth at the same time. He was just out of reach while the two sides of heads seemed to be split on where to go. 

It quickly remembered that it could spit acid, though, and Percy cursed as he dodged the poison again. He stood, cutting down with Riptide in a sharp arc. He cut off the head easily, jumping back from the green blood which sputtered out. He reached out a hand, the liquid fire bursting from a vein in the ground. He prayed it would be hot enough, and the neck flailed as the water hit it. 

The neck dropped to the ground, nothing burst from it. Thank the gods, Percy thought, in the heat of the moment forgetting that there were no gods down here. There was just him and Annabeth, fighting for their lives-- and they had a chance. 

“It works!” he yelled out to Annabeth, who was busy fighting one of the heads on her side. She slashed down with her new sword, cutting the head clean off. One of the other heads roared as she did so, spraying acid towards her. 

Years upon years of training did her well, though, and she jumped back on instinct. Percy punched at the air, and another vein burst up, melting both heads until they fell to the ground, dead. Annabeth didn’t waste any time gaping at them, getting back into the fray, her face dark with shadow and determination. 

Percy joined her, one of the heads coming down onto him. The heat of the hydra’s breath raised the hairs on his arms. He tried to duck the spray of acid, but drops burnt through his shirt and he cursed as he backed up, raising Riptide. The head wasn’t fazed by the sight of the sword, rearing back and opening its mouth to paint him in the burning poison. 

Percy tried to move to the side, but heads were on his left and right, teeth snapping at him. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, ready to go down fighting, but before the middle head could spit at him, the head dropped to the ground.

Annabeth stood there, breathing hard. The skeletal Mist wrapped around her face shivered as she sliced the dragon bone sword through the head on the right. 

“What would you ever do without me?” she asked, voice tight with bravery as she brought the blade down.

Percy exhaled, raising his hand until the liquid flames hit the other heads before they could split into two. While the head on the left was distracted by the death of its companions, he sliced through the neck, Riptide smooth through the lizard-like scales. 

That left three heads that were very, very angry with the two of them. Annabeth moved to Percy’s side, sword raised. The three heads roared, moving in sync as the teeth snapped at them. 

“I’ll take the left, you take right?” Percy suggested. 

“And the one in the middle?” 

Percy shrugged, already moving towards the head. He gave a yell, jumping into the air and aiming Riptide towards the neck. He got the angle wrong, though, and instead of cutting cleanly through the neck, the sword only made a shallow cut in the scales. 

The head growled at him, acid spraying in the air where he had been as he fell back to the ground. He cursed, rolling under the neck. He stabbed at the hydra’s chest, but that just got the middle head’s attention. The deep cut where Riptide stabbed the hydra’s body drew the middle head towards Percy, and he swallowed nervously, backing away from it.

The eyes, which he hadn’t wanted to get an up close look at, were a cross between a cat’s eyes and a lizard’s eyes, and four of them were trained on Percy. He raised his free hand, another vein of fire popping up and drowning the heads in fire for a moment. 

The fire didn’t burn off the heads though, and Percy jumped as the middle head turned to snap at him. Realizing Percy was just out of its reach, it opened its mouth, acid aimed straight at him.

He ducked under the spray, closing his eyes against the vicious heat of the hydra’s breath. The left head took that opportunity to try and taste the burnt skin on Percy’s arms. The teeth made a sharp clacking noise, like concrete blocks being smashed together. He rolled out of the way, but one of the razor sharp teeth caught his side, leaving a long and painful cut. 

He cursed as the middle head regained its senses and tried to bite at him too. He slashed Riptide upwards, the blade coming through the neck. The head hit the ground with a thump, trails of blood lost on the stones that made up the ground. 

Annabeth yelled something, and Percy turned in time to watch her cut off the right head. He made a fist with his hand, fire soaking the neck left behind. She looked at him triumphantly, but the victory on her lips faded quickly as her eyes widened. 

“Percy -- ”

The left head crashed down towards him, mouth gaping open. Percy screamed, rolling to the side quickly. Everything instinct in him was yelling for him to run, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up, the pain in his side too sharp for movement.

He raised Riptide weakly, but he didn’t have to. Annabeth came running towards him, her own sword flashing through the scales on the neck before it could come near him again. The head crashed to the ground and Percy exhaled in relief. He closed his eyes (gods, he could sleep for a thousand years and still be tired). 

“You okay?” Annabeth asked quietly, kneeling next to him. “Let me see.” 

Percy moved his hand from the cut, groaning at the pain. He didn’t want to look. “Is it bad?” 

“It’s -- it’ll be fine,” Annabeth said. “It’ll heal. The teeth aren’t venomous. I don’t think.” 

“Well that’s reassuring.” 

Annabeth snorted. She took one of his hands, squeezing it gently. The simple pressure was more reassuring than anything she could say aloud. “Can you walk?” 

“Yeah,” Percy muttered. “I can handle a bit of pain.”

“We’re almost there,” Annabeth said. She helped pull him up, pulling his arm around her shoulders so he could lean on her. “We’re together, and we’re almost there.” 

“Almost,” Percy repeated. 

He swallowed, picking up Riptide. Annabeth had one hand around his waist, keeping him standing, and the other holding the sword. Percy took a deep breath, just focusing on her arm around him. They were together, and they were almost there.


	5. Chapter 5

Winter break ended, and he went back to school. The other students went about their day, sharing stories about their winter breaks. There was no one for Percy to tell about how many hours he spent alone in his cabin, counting the hippocampi hanging from the ceiling (there were six, and that hadn’t changed at all over break). 

Ms. Acre talks to the class about how she visited Greece. It had been her dream to see the Parthenon and the Acropolis and all the monuments to the gods. She looked so excited. 

Percy felt sick when she spoke. His hands trembled when she mentioned Mount Olympus, and his palms sweat at the mention of the Athena Parthenos, which hadn’t stood there for so long. She went on without noticing his discomfort, but every trigger inside of him was being pulled when she said she wished she could have seen it when it was first built, when there were still heroes walking the stones. 

Just a few months ago, he had almost died in those same places that she went walking. He had watched the blood as it dripped from his nose to the ground, and he had killed giants in the same place she had just called beautiful. 

He couldn’t stand mortals anymore, he decided. He couldn’t stand their endless ignorance to the world. They pretended to love learning about gods and monsters, but they didn’t know about all the tragedy. They didn’t care to find out. He stopped going to that period. 

Mr. Ellis told him that he was exhibiting signs of depression. He wasn’t going to graduate high school at this rate. He was failing every class. 

Percy just laughs, unable to bring himself to care. He was so damn tired, and maybe Mr. Ellis was just another monster in disguise, come to hurt and maim and kill him, come to destroy everything else he has left. He jerked his hand back when Mr. Ellis reached out to touch him, and he screams at him to leave him alone, and let him fucking die without all this high school crap haunting him. He storms out of the room, slamming the door so hard he thought he heard a crack. 

Mr. Ellis just called his mother. 

“Should I be worried?” Sally asked when she hung up the phone. She leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom, arms crossed. She didn’t look mad, but the lines by her eyes had aged years in that one phone conversation. 

“No,” Percy managed to mutter. He didn’t move from his position on the bed, curled up into a ball, his hands under the pillow. He was staring at the moonlace in the windowsill, and the way it caught the light on its petals (sometimes he thought everything would have been better if he had stayed with Calypso in that halcyon eternity). 

Sally walked over to him, kneeling next to the bed. She watched him with wide, open eyes, but he didn’t move to glance at her. The moonlace shivered in the light breeze, he remembered Calypso’s song. It had been sweet, but melancholic too. 

“Percy,” she murmured, running her hand through his hair. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” he said, but it was dry on his lips. He did love his mother, he really did. But he was so tired. He loved his mother, and she meant the world to him, but he knew that the world was never going to be beautiful again, not like it was supposed to be. 

She pursed her lips, moving her hand to his shoulder. “How can I help you, mijo?” 

“I don’t think you can.” He rolled over, an arm over his eyes as he faced the ceiling. “I just -- I’m just tired.” 

He’d never kept secrets from his mom, not really, but this felt different. There was something broken inside of him, and he didn’t want to share it with his mother. Sally Jackson was pure, and good, and Percy was no longer any of those things. 

When he closed his eyes, all he could think about was Akhlys, and Annabeth crying, and Tartarus throwing her across the cavern and her head cracking on the rock, and some things aren’t meant to be controlled, but if any demigod had earned the right to control death, it was Percy. 

Sally rested her forehead against the mattress. She didn’t want to pry, gods, she didn’t think she wanted to know the things her son had seen, but it pained her to watch him hurting. He was her little boy, and he deserved so much better than this world. 

“Okay,” she relented. “I’m going to make you get up for dinner in half an hour.” 

He nodded. His mother deserved better. Better than a son who was going to die so soon. Better than a son who was failing out of high school. Better than a son who couldn’t even get out of bed. Better than him. 

Paul made them spaghetti, and Percy managed to eat most of his plate. Paul told them about his day, about the student in his class who kept insisting that Hamlet was gay. Paul didn’t exactly think he was wrong, but Goode High didn’t want that in the curriculum. 

“Goode High is oppressive,” Percy said dryly. “Stick it to the man, Paul.” 

Sally smiled at him. “What’s life without a little rebellion?” 

“Thanks guys,” Paul said through a mouth full of pasta. “But I’m not looking to get fired this year. Or any year, actually.” 

“Not being fired would be good,” Sally agreed. “Oh, that reminds me, Paul, we have to go to that parent-teacher meeting on Tuesday.” 

Percy shook his head empathetically. “You don’t have to go to that.” 

“Of course we do,” Paul said.

“Let me rephrase that,” Percy said, voice cold. The cup next to his hand rattled, the water inside swirling, and he clenched his hand. “You should absolutely not go to that.” 

His mother swallowed, every muscle tensed. “Percy -- ”

The tap over the sink burst, water soaking the kitchen.

_“Percy,”_ Sally hissed, an instinctual scream caught in her throat. 

He took a deep breath, feeling the tension in his muscles. He hadn’t meant to do that, but the tug in his gut was familiar. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. The spout slowed to a steady drip before stopping altogether. “I’m sorry.” 

Sally shook her head. “You didn’t mean to.” 

“That doesn’t make it okay.” 

“It is okay,” Paul assured him. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, but couldn’t bring himself to. That had been happening a lot lately, Percy had noticed. “But Percy, you need to talk about it. Not now, maybe not with me. But you need to talk to someone about this.” 

Percy met his gaze, clenching and unclenching his fist. “This?” The water in his cup swirled up, filtering through the air and then falling down again. “Or this?” He tapped his forehead, the touch reverberating in his skull. He was losing his goddamn mind. 

Sally reached a hand out, actually touching his forearm. “You’re not okay, Percy. I know you’re not. You flinch at the smallest things and you have nightmares every night and I know you’ve been skipping school. Honey, you need help.” 

“I need someone who understands. I love you guys, but you don’t. I need - I need Annabeth,” Percy said softly. “And she’s not here.” 

His mother and Paul stared at him like he was a piece of broken art, a painting that had been torn up and hastily put back together with scotch tape. Percy stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor. “I’m sorry about the sink.” 

Springtime came without warning. The groundhogs predicted an early end to winter, and Percy spent his free time sitting on the fire escape outside his bedroom. The sun was beginning to melt all of the snowbanks, and tulips were bursting through the sheets of ice (there was nothing beautiful about it). Mr. Ellis told him that if he kept skipping class, he would be forced to call Sally again, so Percy went back to classics and calculus and biology. 

“We missed you for a few weeks there,” Ms. Acre told him. Her smile still made him sick. She was wearing a necklace with a circle pendant on it. If he looked closer, he could see ridges and lines etched into it -- a maze. 

“I hate this class,” he told her. He didn’t bother sugarcoating it, didn’t bother being nice in places that he might have before. There was no point in being nice, not if there was an eternity of monsters just waiting to be reborn and kill him, and if they didn’t, they would just try again and again and again. 

“Why’d you take it?” she asked, handing him a packet of work he missed.

He dropped the packet on his desk, sitting down to avoid her gaze. “My girlfriend wanted me to. She said it would be useful.”

“Oh, she sounds smart,” Ms. Acre said. “What’s her - ” 

“She died,” Percy cut in, the words bitter and angry in his mouth. They tasted like chalk grating against his teeth. “Last summer.” 

Ms. Acre stopped for a minute, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry, Percy.” 

He shrugged, and she stepped away to begin the class. Her heels clicked against the floor. “We’ll be talking about Orpheus today,” she said, and Percy straightened up. 

_Oh. _

“Orpheus was a musician and poet, son of a king and Calliope,” Ms. Acre started. “Can anyone remind us who Calliope was?”

Silence answered her, like no one had heard her question. That wasn’t implausible; classics was only a class you took for the history credit during your senior year. The other twenty kids in the class were either sleeping, doodling, or just ignoring her altogether. 

Ms. Acre wasn’t deterred by that, though. “Calliope was one of the nine muses. She was the patron of epic poems and blessed Homer when he wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey.” She clicked forward on her PowerPoint presentation. “Now, Orpheus was a beloved artist, and his music was so good that it was said to be able to bend nature to his will. There are two famous stories about him. Can anyone name them?” 

A girl in the back raised her hand, her voice bored when she spoke. “He was with Jason and the Argonauts where he sang a lot, and then later his wife died and he was sad.” 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Ms. Acre said, teeth white when she smiled. “But yes. The one we’re going to focus on is, as Emily put it, when his wife died and he was sad.” 

Ms. Acre moved forward in her PowerPoint, a photorealistic drawing of a boy in a forest playing a lyre popping up. It was a peaceful scene, and Percy was reminded of a cave in the Labyrinth, where he had watched a god die.

“Eurydice was Orpheus’ wife, and one day she was walking through the woods when a satyr came across her and tried to rape her.” Ms. Acre’s eyes darted around the room. “This was commonplace between nymphs and satyrs.” 

Percy wrinkled his nose. The satyrs at camp might fall head over heels in love with a new nymph every five minutes, but he didn’t think any of them would ever rape a girl. Maybe they had evolved with the times, or maybe Percy just didn’t know them well enough. He hoped that it was the former. 

“When Eurydice tried to get away, she stumbled into a pit of vipers, which bit her ankle, effectively killing her. What does that remind you of? Can anyone name an example of a similar text?” 

“Achilles’ heel,” a boy called out from where he was slouched over the desk. He had his hood pulled over his head, and there were bags under his eyes. If Percy had to take a guess, the boy had just woken up. 

“Good,” Ms. Acre said, nodding. “Moving on. When Orpheus found out that his wife was dead, he was devastated. He sang songs that were more mournful than any of the nature spirits or gods had ever heard before. They told him he could get her back if he went to the Underworld.” 

Percy recalled another time, just two or so years ago, when he, Nico, and Grover stood in front of a pile of boulders, waiting for them to move. He remembered Grover’s pan pipes, and the awful grating sound of the rocks slowly unfolding to reveal a tunnel. The tale of Orpheus was true, Percy was sure of that much, and that meant that it was possible to bring back the deceased, even without the Doors of Death being opened. That meant -- that meant there was hope. 

He could hate the gods with everything he had, he could have revenge plans aching in his bones like promises, but he was feeling that same hope he had when he was twelve and his mother was gone. If Greek mythology was true, that meant there was an Underworld, and that meant he could bring her back. He could thank the gods for that much. 

He didn’t wait for the school day to end, not bothering to go to his next classes. He slipped past the security guard at the front door, and took the subway back home. Both his mom and Paul were out of the apartment, and he was alone in the house. He found a pile of drachmas on his bedside table and went to the kitchen sink. He didn’t even have to think about it to get a steady mist going. 

“Oh Fleecy, do me a solid,” Percy said, tossing a gold coin in the mist. “Show me Nico di Angelo at Camp Half-Blood.” 

The mist shimmered, and Percy let out a slow exhale of relief. He hadn’t been sure that would work right. Slowly, a picture emerged in the mist: Nico standing at the edge of the forest, arrows flying behind him. 

“Percy?” Nico asked, frowning. “Why are you calling? And why is it all weird?” 

“I’m using a...direct line,” Percy said. “I don’t want the gods listening.” 

Nico let out an imperceptible sigh. “What is it?” 

“Orpheus,” Percy said, getting straight to the point. There was energy burning in his lungs for the first time since the Giant War, and he could feel the determination pulsing through him. “You showed me where the door was before. I need you to do it again.” 

Nico stared. Behind him, one of the Apollo campers gave a delighted shout. Nico closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “Percy -- I know what you’re thinking, and -- and absolutely not. This is a horrible idea.” 

“It could work,” Percy said defiantly. “I don’t care about the risk or whoever it might anger, I need to try. Your father doesn’t scare me.” 

He could feel something dark brewing in his gut, and he needed to let it out, needed to take his shot down to the Underworld and get her back. To save a friend, you would sacrifice the world, Athena had said to him once. But he was going to do both. He may be taking the long way around, but he swore to himself that he was going to do it. Whatever it took. 

“He should scare you,” Nico said, shaking his head. “I’m not helping you with this.” 

“You tried to bring Bianca back,” Percy tried. “And when you couldn’t, you brought Hazel back. You can’t tell me that this isn’t possible, or it isn’t worth it, or -- ”

“It was different then. The Doors of Death were open, and they aren’t anymore,” Nico interrupted. 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” 

Nico tightened his jaw, staring Percy down. “But it does mean it shouldn’t happen.” 

“I don’t care.” Percy raised a hand, ready to disconnect the call. “I’ll do it with or without your help.” He waved his hand through the Mist, and Nico disappeared, a protest still echoing on his lips. 

“There are other children of the Underworld,” Percy muttered to himself, tossing another drachma in the mist and calling for Camp Jupiter. 

Hazel came into focus with a laugh, her head turned to the side, smiling at someone to her left. When she turned, her eyes widened at the sight of Percy. He wondered what he might look like to her; desperate and angry and so, so ready to find justice. 

“Percy,” she said, her smile still strong. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine, fine. Hazel, you’ve been to the Underworld -- ”

Her expression turned guarded. “Percy, what are you doing?” 

“There are ways to cheat death,” Percy said, running a hand through his hair, the way he did when he was upset. “And I need -- I need her, Hazel. I need her like -- like I need air, like a hero needs hope.”

“Percy, what are you saying?” 

“You know the story of Orpheus.” He swallowed, waiting for the understanding to grow in her eyes. It took only half a second before she nodded. 

“You want to bargain with Pluto -- Hades, I mean.” 

“I just need your help getting into the Underworld,” Percy said quickly. “You don’t need to talk to him or fight him, or whatever, I just -- you’re good with the underground. I just need your help finding Orpheus’ door.” 

She took a deep breath, glancing around her. There was a soft undertone of conversation behind her, but no one seemed to be paying attention. “Nico would be better, he’s traveled the Underworld more than I have.” 

“He said no,” Percy told her, biting his lip. “But you can sense tunnels and open doorways and -- ”

“Okay.” 

“ -- and you can just lead me down, and I can take it from there, and Hades doesn’t even have to know you helped, and -- wait, what?” 

Hazel smiled at him, a recognition dancing at her eyes. “I’ll help you.” 

“Really?” Percy asked, straightening his stance. 

“I understand what it’s like to want to bring someone back from the dead,” Hazel said. “I’m not promising that you can do this, or that it’s even a good idea, but I’ll help. I can make a tunnel there, and that’ll avoid Charon and stop any alarms from going off.” 

A wave of relief settled through Percy, every tight muscle relaxing. “Thank you, Hazel.” 

“I love you, Perce,” she said softly, a blush forming on her cheeks. She wasn’t used to being so open, but Percy was a familiar heartbeat next to her own. The two of them and Frank had been through a lot together, and she trusted him. “You’re like my brother, and I want to see you happy. If you say this will make you happy, then I will help.” 

The words were choked up in Percy’s throat, but he managed a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m gonna -- I’m gonna go to San Francisco, and I’ll see you then.” 

“Be safe,” she said, worry etched into her expression. “I’ll be waiting.” 

Percy disconnected the call, a plan set in his mind. He began packing a backpack full of things he needed for the journey -- ambrosia, an extra knife, a spare set of clothes, a reusable water bottle, etc. -- and dug a store of cash he had hidden in his sock drawer.

_Mom + Paul,_

_There’s something that I need to do. I’ll be safe, and I’ll check in in a few days. I love you both so much, and I’ll be back soon, with Annabeth. _

_Percy_


	6. Chapter 6

Grover found him at a bus stop in New Jersey, a backpack tossed around his shoulders. He was wearing another one of his hippie t-shirts and jeans, and the look was all too reminiscent of a time long, long ago. 

“You weren’t planning on leaving without me, were you?” Grover asked, stepping next to him. Percy didn’t have to meet his eyes to know the fierce determination there, or the defiant glint to his teeth. Grover wasn’t going to leave him without a fight. 

“How did you know what I was doing?” 

Grover tapped his temple. “Empathy link.” 

“I thought I told you to get rid of it,” Percy said, cringing. All the nightmares in the past few nights, all the anger and the sadness and the exhaustion-- Grover had felt all of that, a secondary heartbeat to his own. Guilt flooded in, and Percy couldn’t meet the satyr’s eyes. 

“Yeah, you did tell me to,” Grover said. “And then I didn’t.” 

Percy swallowed. “I’m sorry.” 

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” Grover said, voice suddenly a drop quieter. “I’m worried about you.” 

“You don’t have to be.” 

Grover shook his head, gripping the straps of his backpack. “Yeah, I do.”

He didn’t offer an explanation other than the wry smile he gave before they stepped onto the bus. Percy thought maybe there was the sound of tin cans rattling in his backpack, but he ignored it, following Grover onto the bus. No one spared them a second glance when they sat down towards the back, Grover keeping a close eye on the pedestrians outside of the window.

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Percy said. He kept an eye on the seat in front of him, the Sharpie graffiti staring back. It looked like a devil, with horns and an angry grin, holding a long trident. He didn’t know if his words were a warning against himself or the monsters. (Was there even a difference anymore?)

“Someone’s gotta protect you,” Grover told him, glancing over. There were shadows and scars on Percy’s cheeks that hadn’t been there before, when they had first climbed onto a bus in New Jersey at five years younger and eons more innocent. “I’m your protector. That’s always been my job.” 

“You were Annabeth’s protector too,” Percy snapped. The words burned his throat as soon as he said them, aching on his tongue like a fiery brand. 

Grover took a deep breath, tugging at his shirt with an anxious grip. “I know.” 

“I’m sorry,” Percy said quietly, under his breath like a low hum of shame. “That was a low blow.” 

“It’s okay,” Grover said, shaking his head. “I get it.” 

Percy shook his head, not meeting Grover’s eyes. It wasn’t okay, and he knew it. He was just so angry all the time, that anger and hatred felt like secondary blood lines in his veins, like lines which ran parallel to his arteries. Resent ached within him, a pulse as well, beating at every other heartbeat, like half of him was human and the other half was a bitter mess of a god. 

The bus grumbled under their feet and they started on their way. The bus line would get them to Chicago, about a quarter of the way there, and then they would switch to train to get the rest of the way. It would be a simple trip, theoretically. 

Percy stuffed his backpack between him and the window before resting his head down. He closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths. There was a gentle chatter on the bus, soft enough that he could tune it out as he slowly fell into a deep sleep. Grover would keep watch. Like he had said, he was Percy’s protector. Percy would never stop being thankful for that. 

An hour later, Percy woke to Grover shoving at her shoulder. 

“Perce,” he hissed.

Percy stared at him, blearily rubbing at his eyes. He had slept lightly and short enough that nightmares hadn’t found him, hadn’t sunk into his subconscious and haunted his brain. “What is it?”

Grover tilted his head towards the aisle. “Three seats back,” he muttered. “A woman just got on. Young, blonde hair. Smells like death.” 

Percy tried not to flinch at the description (all he could think about was blonde hair and kind gray eyes and soft skin and calloused hands and a whip-sharp smile). “You think we should get off?”

“There’s no way to get off without her noticing,” Grover muttered. He tugged at the scruff of beard he had growing, his knee bouncing anxiously.

“Okay,” Percy said slowly, trying to reason out a plan within his still sleep addled brain. “Two options. Get off and try to lure her away from the mortals and fight there, or we stay on and see what she does.” 

“Maybe it won’t end in a fight,” Grover said. There was a naive hopefulness in his voice. “Maybe she’s a friendly dead guy.” 

“No such thing.” 

Grover sighed. “I was afraid of that. I vote we get her away from the mortals. It would be bad to pick a fight in the middle of the bus.” 

Percy didn’t really want to get off the bus, not when they were so close to their destination. If this spirit picked a fight, the Mist was probably strong enough that mortals wouldn’t even notice. The only reason it would be a problem would be if the bus flipped over or something that couldn’t be covered up. Percy didn’t really care about that possibility, but Grover was too good to ignore it. 

“Next stop,” Percy muttered. Riptide seemed to burn in his pocket, and he shivered at the anticipation of the fight. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or something stronger than that.

The two of them sat tensely for the next hour, before they pulled off to drop people off in Cleveland. It was raining when they got there, the pavement slick with water. Percy shouldered his backpack and followed Grover off the bus. Their feet made wet splashes in the puddles as they walked away from the bus, making their way to a McDonald’s across the street. Percy didn’t have to look behind them to know she was following. His senses had hardened over the years, becoming attuned to things he never thought would matter. But everything seemed to matter when it came down to the final fight. 

Percy nodded towards a covered picnic area, one hand in his jacket pocket. “There.” 

The two of them made their way through the scattered people, heading towards it. Percy twisted the cap of Riptide around and around as they stopped, waiting for the woman to approach them. She wasn’t immediately attacking, which was a good sign, but didn’t mean she was friendly. Too many monsters and villains liked to talk before they tried to kill you. 

“Who are you?” Percy called out to her as she approached. 

She had black eyes, the pupils so small that they could barely be differentiated from the irises. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail (Annabeth had done that so many times, and she had sometimes let Percy pull it back for her, his hands threading through the hair so slowly she had teased him for not knowing how). She was dressed simply, jeans and an orange t-shirt, but that was where the resemblance to a human stopped. 

Her skin was sallow and her cheekbones set too high for her face. One half of her face kept flickering in and out, like her left side was phasing in and out of death. 

“Perseus Jackson,” she said, voice smooth. There was something haunting about it-- it sounded quiet and soft, but Percy could feel the power radiating beneath the syllables. “I told you we would meet again.” 

He blinked, trying to tear his gaze away from her eyes. His hair was standing up on his arms, and every muscle was ready to run. There was so much rain around them, and yes, this would be the best place to fight, with water at every turn (and there must be water in her veins, Percy thought vaguely, before hardening his jaw and tossing the thought aside).

“Remind me again who you are,” Percy prompted. 

She smiled, and that was even more unnerving than the ghostly appearance flickering around his skeleton. “Oh, I see. I got the eyes wrong, didn’t I?” 

She tilted her head, and her appearance shifted again. The hollowed out cheekbones became full, her t-shirt slightly more crumpled, the curls in her hair tightening. A stray strand of hair fell out of the ponytail (Percy always missed pieces, and Annabeth rolled her eyes, gray, intelligent eyes). 

The woman blinked, and the eyes faded into a soft gray, a shine hitting the light in just the right spot, and Percy knew that shade of skin, the knife hanging at her waist, the jeans with a hole at the knee in the shape of a heart -- 

“Annabeth,” Grover whispered. His voice was ghostly, like all the fight had been drained out of it. 

“Grover,” she said. She reached out a hand, and the nails were bitten down to the skin from hours of worrying over drafts for statues and temples. “Percy, oh gods, I missed you.” 

Percy swallowed, and Riptide fell from his fingers. He didn’t hear it hit the concrete, all he saw was Annabeth, a smudge of graphite at the corner of her eye, her front tooth chipped from her time on the run. “Are you real?” 

“Of course I am, Seaweed Brain. Come here.” 

“Percy,” someone said behind him, voice harsh. Percy shook it off. He couldn’t remember who else was with him. All that mattered was Annabeth. She was here, and she was with him, and that was all that he had wanted for so long, he could feel the longing in his blood, itching to move towards her. He could feel the soft patter of rain on his arms, and he realized he was walking forwards. 

“Percy, stop,” someone called again. There was a tinge of fear there, and Percy almost turned back, but Annabeth was here, smiling at him, her expression melting into familiarity. 

Percy stepped forward, hand reaching out subconsciously. His fingers tingled as they neared her skin, that same tanned shade they had been before, with the scar on her bicep and the freckle on her forearm. He reached closer, she was right there, and - his hand sizzled where it met hers, and the illusion flickered as he burnt. 

There was a sharp clatter, and Annabeth -- Annabeth? -- flickered out like an old television screen flickering in a thunderstorm. Percy jolted back, heart skipping a beat. A tin can had clattered onto the pavement, cracking as it flew through her. 

Annabeth frowned. “Well that was rude, Grover.” 

“Who are you?” Grover asked, voice coming strong from behind him.

“Percy knows me,” she said. She flickered again, and her skin faded to a skeletal ghost, like half of her had been melted down. 

He searched for a name, something that had almost flickered away from the back of his mind, hidden beneath boxes of repressed memories. It had been fall, before his sixteenth birthday. Thalia and Nico were with him, and he had made a joke about the Big Three children coming together, and Nico hadn’t laughed. 

“Melinoe,” he guessed. “Goddess of ghosts.” 

He took a short step back, coming even with Grover. Grover put a hand at Percy’s elbow, handing him Riptide. Percy took it without tearing his eyes away from the goddess. “I had almost forgotten,” he said. “The quest for the sword of Hades. You were on Kronos’ side.” 

“Are you going to tell me I was wrong?” she asked. She grinned at him, every bone in her face tensing and shifting. 

Percy hardened his jaw, tightening his grip on Riptide. “What do you want?” 

“Hades sent me with a warning,” she told him. “I thought I’d have a little fun while I’m at it.” 

Percy cursed, slashing Riptide through her pale form, the celestial blade cutting through the orange t-shirt and the jeans and the knife at her side and the tanned skin and all the places Percy had memorized whether it was by Long Island Sound or in hell. 

She just laughed, an echo as she reformed a few feet back. “You can’t kill me, Perseus Jackson. You’re no god-slayer.” 

“What’s your warning?” Grover asked, cutting Percy off before he could yell something obscene. 

“He knows your plan,” she said, voice turning hard. “He’s never going to let you take her back.” 

Percy dove forward, sending Riptide straight through her open mouth, cutting down her throat and stomach and letting the ghost split apart. “I’ll change his mind.” 

Melinoe disappeared, and Percy was left standing, a sword pointed at the empty air. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving as his face crumpled. His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the ground, the rain soaking through his clothes. He could will himself dry, but he was so weak already (he was no god-slayer and he was no hero, he was just a boy sitting in the rain, falling apart). 

“Percy,” Grover murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. He kneeled down, coming eye to eye with him. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Percy shook his head. “How can it -- how can it ever be okay? Hades is a god and I’m fucking nothing without her.” 

“That’s not true,” Grover insisted, dropping his hand to Percy’s hand. He took Riptide out of Percy’s hand, capping it. “You’re the strongest hero -- no, Percy, you’re the strongest person that I know. With or without her. You’re going to get through this.” 

“I need her,” Percy said hopelessly. “I can’t -- it doesn’t matter how strong I am or could be or ever was, I don’t know how to be without her, Grover. She’s -- she’s everything.” 

Grover sighed, light as a feather but heavy with all the weight of death. He had known and cared for Annabeth even longer than Percy had, he was aching for her just as much, even if it wasn’t in the same way. “We’re gonna get her back.” 

“Yeah,” Percy murmured. “We’re going to get her back.” 

Grover pulled him up, squeezing his shoulders gently. “We’ll get on the next bus out of here.”


	7. Chapter 7

When he was twelve years old, Percy had taken Grover on the long cross-country journey to Los Angeles to confront Hades and stop a war with him. It would be the most dangerous thing they would ever do, they thought. They were going to stop the most cataclysmic war possible, they thought. 

When he was sixteen years old, Percy waged a war for the soul of Olympus. It was the greatest threat to Western civilization-- Kronos and his countless monsters and demigods, all fighting to tear down the Olympians. He had to fight, in order to keep the mortal world safe and keep the gods in power. He thought it was the most dangerous thing he would ever do.

When he was seventeen years old, he fought in Athens to tear down the greatest threat possible. The final war, the worst one imaginable-- fighting against giants and primordial deities. This was the final Great Prophecy, the war to end all wars. Even the gods fought in this one.

Since he was twelve years old, he had been fighting on behalf of the gods. He had been fighting to keep their power, to give them more power. He had been fighting to save a civilization that just keep taking everything from him. Every time that he thought he had nothing left that they could take, the Fates tore his world apart again. 

This was the last time they would do it, he promised to himself. This was the last time that they could tear his soul apart and make him put it back together. This was the last time they would destroy him. This was the time when he would take it all back, take control of a destiny that hadn’t been his since the moment he was born. 

After a lifetime of war, this was the final threat. It wasn’t the Titans, nor the giants, nor Gaea, nor the gods themselves. Percy Jackson himself was the final threat. 

He was going to tear death apart, going to bring him to the ground. He would bring her back. There wasn’t another option.

They made it to Berkeley, California with only minor incidents. There were hellhounds and harpies and telkhines and gryphons and none of it stopped them. Grover warned him when a monster was nearby and Percy tore them apart like Riptide was an extension of his clawed arms rather than a weapon (he himself was the weapon, not his sword, he was beginning to think). 

“I can smell the ocean,” Percy said quietly, as they stepped off the train. The sun was gentle on his skin as it slowly faded beyond the horizon. The ocean had always been relaxing, had always made him feel safe, but it almost felt forbidding now. Like his father was watching him from just over the hill, watching him get ready to bargain with death. 

“I can smell monsters,” Grover said, voice dry. “Let’s keep moving.” 

Percy shot him a rare smile. They were so close, and California was undeniably beautiful. “We’re meeting Hazel outside Camp Jupiter. It’s not too far from here.” 

They caught a taxi going towards a nature preserve near the Caldecott Tunnel, Grover making them skip two different taxis because they “smelled dirty.” He probably wasn’t wrong, Percy figured, and he trusted Grover’s judgement over his nervous anticipation of getting to Hazel. 

The taxi moved slowly down I-580, parallel to the water. If Percy looked out the window to his right, he could see the waves gently pulling forward and backwards. A serpent of some kind wove through the San Francisco Bay, and he inhaled the smell of salt spray. It was rejuvenating, after so many days sitting in the grain fields of middle America. 

Grover followed his gaze out of the window. “There’s something big over there,” he said anxiously. “I can smell it from here.” 

“The ocean, you mean? That’s pretty big.” 

Grover rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I meant a monster.” 

“You kids doing some kind of roleplay?” the taxi driver asked, meeting Percy’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Something like that,” Percy said, words trailing at the ends. “How long will it be until we get there?” 

The driver shrugged. “There's hella slow traffic at this hour. It’ll probably be another twenty minutes.” 

“How much do I have to give you to go faster?” Percy asked, chewing his lip. He didn’t have a lot of money left, but now that they were in California, there wasn’t a lot that they needed money for. 

“That shit only works in New York, son.” 

“Name a price,” Percy said. “I’ll match it.” 

The driver sighed, but gave him a price, and started to weave through the traffic the way Percy was used to back in the city, though the slow traffic still pinched at his restless bones. “Fuckin’ East Coast kids.” 

Grover was getting just as restless as Percy was, and he kept pulling at his t-shirt, twisting it around his fingers. Grover was never much one for silence, and kept up a steady stream of chatter as they rode the rest of the way towards Camp Jupiter. The taxi driver interjected every now and then, his heavy West Coast accent further solidifying how mortal he was. It was a comforting thought, to suddenly be so ingrained in the mortal world. There was nothing quite as mortal as traffic. 

The taxi driver pulled them off the interstate into Sibley Volcanic Regional Reserve, dropping them off at the staging area. From there, Percy and Grover walked through the reserve back to Caldecott Tunnel. At the maintenance entrance Percy remembered from so many months ago, he could see two sentries standing at the doors. 

He began to jog over, his bag rattling at his back. Grover chased after him, cursing the fake sneakers he was wearing to hide his hooves. 

“Hazel,” Percy called, and one of the sentries turned, breaking into a smile. 

“Hey Percy,” she grinned, catching him in a hug and a laugh. “Gods, it’s good to see you.” 

Grover caught up to them, smiling despite his heavy breathing. “Hazel, right?” 

“Yeah,” she said, reaching over to shake his hand-- she had never quite lost the good manners ingrained in her from the 40s. 

“This is Grover,” Percy said, one arm still on Hazel’s shoulder. “He was my protector back when I first found out I was a demigod.” 

Hazel nodded. She had learned vaguely about protectors and satyrs’ jobs at Camp Half-Blood while on the Argo II, after Frank had accidentally mixed up fawns and satyrs. Coach Hedge had gone on a two hour long rant, beaten in length only by the rant he went on after the Yankees lost to the Red Sox. 

“I’m off sentry duty in a few minutes,” Hazel said. “Can we just hang out here for a bit and then we can get going?” 

Percy nodded, glancing over at the other sentry, who was watching them curiously. She must have been a new recruit, because he didn’t recognize her from his brief time at Camp Jupiter. 

“Oh, this is Avery,” Hazel said, motioning over to her. “She’s the newest addition to the Fifth Cohort.” 

Grover waved a hand, smiling at her (his smiles came so much easier than Percy’s smiles did, and he couldn’t help the tinge of jealousy there). “I’m Grover, and I’m not a fawn.” 

“Cool,” Avery said, trying to hide her confusion. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, shuffling her helmet slightly. “Aren’t we supposed to report visitors to the Praetors?” 

Percy swallowed nervously, glancing at Hazel. “We can’t let them know I’m here. Reyna will call Chiron and then -- ”

“Avery,” Hazel interrupted. “They’re old friends, we don’t have to report them. We wouldn’t report it if a Roman who had left for a quest or whatever came back, right?” 

“I guess,” she said, her words a slow drawl. 

She looked uncertain still, but Hazel didn’t appear worried about it, so Percy dismissed it. Before either could say anything else, two other sentries appeared at the tunnel door, easy smiles on their faces. 

“Uneventful again?” one asked Hazel, thumping her shoulder. 

Hazel smiled, and Percy realized how much more welcome she had become since they had first met. She seemed at ease with herself, no longer caught between her secrets and lies, hiding from the rest of the camp. She was settled within the legion, rather than living on the outskirts. 

She exchanged a few words with the two replacements, before leading Avery, Grover, and Percy through the tunnel and into the Camp. 

“Grover, have you ever been here before?” she asked, glancing behind her. A light was glistening at the end of the tunnel, and Percy could hear the rushing of the Little Tiber. 

“Nope,” Grover said, glancing around. “Is it underground? Because I don’t -- I don’t love that.” 

“This is just the main entrance, don’t worry.” 

The tunnel widened out as they found the end, bursting into sunlight. The valley spread out in front of them, the rays of the sun falling onto hills and forests. The Little Tiber cut around the perimeter like an ancient moat. This river had washed away his iron skin, a lifetime ago, Percy remembered (this camp had never been a home).

“It’s beautiful,” Grover said, voice soft. “And it’s nothing like Camp Half-Blood.” 

Hazel shook her head. “Your camp is great, but yeah-- this is representative of Rome. It’s militaristic, and clean, and organized-- to the point of obsession. Camp Half-Blood is great, but it’s nowhere near as methodized as Camp Jupiter is.” 

“It’s great,” Avery said, smiling. She picked up her pace, walking ahead of the group. “Hazel, I’ll catch up with you later. It was nice meeting you guys!” 

Hazel waved, giving her a smile as she jogged off. “I’m just gonna grab my bag and then we can get going. I want to head down to the beach to do this.” 

Percy nodded, following her. “How’s Frank, by the way?” 

“Oh, he’s good,” Hazel said. She had taken off her helmet and was fiddling with the feather at the top. “Being Praetor is a thankless position, honestly, but he’s doing an amazing job, if you ask me. Without Octavian, everyone gets along a lot better, which is always helpful.” 

Percy gave a small laugh. He had missed Hazel and her whiplash commentary. “I wanted to see him, but I -- I don’t know if he would support this.” 

“As our friend, he would,” Hazel said slowly, tasting the words before speaking them. “As Praetor, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it’s against Roman law to bring people back from the dead.” 

“It’s against Roman law to do a lot of things,” Grover noted. 

“Romans are very lawful people,” Hazel agreed. “Here are the barracks. Wait here, just give me one second.” 

Hazel disappeared into the barracks, leaving Percy and Grover standing outside. Percy had stayed here when Juno brought him to Camp Jupiter, he had lived here, walked these stone streets, eaten in the dining halls. 

He had a plan, even after Leo had accidentally blown up the Principia, to come to New Rome after the war. He and Annabeth were going to live there, go to college or start working. They could go on dates without worrying about monsters-- go to coffee shops or restaurants or bookstores. They could’ve been happy together, they just-- they just had to survive one last quest. 

“Ready to go?” Hazel asked, appearing next to them. 

Grover nodded. “Where are we going?” 

“There are a couple ways in and out of camp,” Hazel explained. “There’s the main entrance, which we just came through. There’s a way out if you go through New Rome, but if we cross the Pomerian Line, Terminus will stop us.” 

“Okay, so where are we going?” Percy asked. He fiddled with the straps on his backpack, the weight of it heavy on his back. 

“There’s a bridge over the Little Tiber,” Hazel said. “It opens out to the Oakland Hills, and from there we can take a taxi to the San Francisco Bay. There’s a legacy who can get us there fast.” 

Percy smiled at her, thankful for the confidence in her voice. He needed her to get to the Underworld, especially if it was true that Hades had a target on his back. 

Hazel managed to find them a ride towards the bay without a problem. Her way with the Mist came in handy as the taxi driver wove over unpaved hills and crossed through private drives. She talked as they drove, keeping her eye out of the windshield. 

“Pluto is angry,” she said, glancing at Percy. “He knows what we’re doing, and he’s gonna do anything to stop it.” 

Percy nodded. “He sent a fun little messenger to let us know that.” 

“She was very nice,” Grover said, sighing. He looked out the window. “Perce, there’s really something big in the water over there.” 

Hazel followed his gaze. “There were rumors of some serpents, I think, a few days ago.” 

“It’s probably fine,” Percy said. “Back to what you were saying about Pluto, though…” 

“Right,” Hazel said, looking down at her hands. She was nervously rubbing the back of her hand with her thumb, moving in small circles. “Look, this isn’t the first time someone’s tried to bring a loved one back from the dead, you know that. But it happened more recently than Pluto wants you to know. A man went down in the 50s, looking for his wife, tried to make a deal.” 

“What was the deal?” Grover asked, studying her solemn expression. 

Hazel shrugged. “I have no idea. These were just rumors I heard about while I was -- you know. Dead. Point is, he went down, made a deal. It’s been done before. But he actually followed through. He was able to bring her back. Pluto -- Hades -- was pissed, except he couldn’t do anything about it, because he swore on the River Styx.” 

“So what you’re saying is that I should make him swear on the River Styx,” Percy said. 

Hazel sighed, not meeting his eyes. “No, I’m saying he’s gonna be even less likely to agree to a deal than ever before. Add in the fact that the Doors of Death were open, and he’s got the Underworld under lock and key. He’s angry, and he’s gonna do everything to stop someone undermining his power again.” 

“It was a long time ago,” Grover suggested. He sounded small when he looked over at Percy for a bit of confidence. “Maybe he’s gotten over it, since he became a hero in the last few years. Everyone loves him now.” 

“Who knows,” Hazel said. She set her hands on her knees. “I just think we need to be careful here. He’s desperate to keep the Underworld in his control.” 

Percy nodded grimly. “I still have to try.” 

“I know,” Hazel said. “I’m with you.” 

Grover reached over and squeezed his knee. “Me too, Perce.”


	8. Chapter 8

There was a shadow waiting for them on the beach. It started as just a dark ripple over the sand, but as they approached it shook gently until Nico di Angelo stepped out. 

“Nico,” Hazel said brightly, stepping forward to him. 

Nico shook his head, putting up a hand. “Hazel, why are you helping him?” 

She stopped. “Nico -- ”

“Hades sent me,” he interrupted. “I need to stop you before he tries to. He’ll be a lot less humane.” 

Grover stepped forward, nervously tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Nico, please just let us try.” 

“You can’t cheat death,” Nico said darkly. He was so much older than his age.“The ancient myths are full of stories of people getting punished for it, Percy, you’ve met Sisyphus, and Daedelus, and Eurytion -- ”

“I don’t care,” Percy broke in. “I don’t care if I get punished, I have to try. I’m not scared of punishment.” 

Nico’s face crumpled. “You should be! Percy, I’m trying to protect you, why can’t you see that? I know you love Annabeth, I know, but you can’t -- Percy, there are things worse than death.” 

“I’ve seen Death,” Percy told him, stepping forward. Behind him, Grover and Hazel were tensely waiting for his signal. “And I’ve walked through hell. And I know the greater pain is being without her.” 

“Percy, he’s not going to let you bring her back,” Nico said, shaking his head slowly. Hazel was watching him, a sorrow in her eyes that Percy didn’t want to name. 

“Nico, you know it’s possible,” Hazel reminded him. “Just let us try. You brought me back. Doesn’t Annabeth deserve the same second chance?” 

Nico swallowed, glancing between her and Percy. “Of course she does, but Hades doesn’t think like that. I brought you back because the Doors were open and Hades couldn’t stop me. He can now.” 

“I have to try,” Percy broke in. “You know that.” 

“Please don’t make me do this.” Nico had his hand hovering over his sword, and he slowly wrapped his fingers around the hilt. 

Grover stepped next to Percy, put a hand to Percy’s arm. “Hazel and I will start with the tunnel,” he said, voice soft enough that Nico couldn’t hear him. “Deal with him.” 

Percy gave a slight nod without tearing his eyes away from Nico, and his two companions moved behind him, Hazel snapping her fingers and enveloping them in the Mist. “Nico, Hades doesn’t need to know what happened here. I can tell him we fought, that you almost stopped me.” 

“He’s always watching me,” Nico said, voice hopeless. “You don’t understand, Percy, I’m trying to save you from him. Turn back now, and he won’t hurt you.” 

“Being without Annabeth hurts more than anything Hades can do to me.” 

“Let Hades witness I tried,” Nico murmured. 

He drew his sword. The Stygian Iron shimmered in the sun, its three foot long curved blade catching the light and absorbing it as if the sword itself was death, was a nightmare. Percy felt a wave of fear echo through him, but he drew Riptide without hesitance. 

When they were eons younger, Nico had been bright eyed and Percy had been brave. They had never been close, but Percy was determined to protect him. He had been determined to keep Nico safe from the prophecy, from the gods, from everyone who wanted to hurt the son of Hades. 

Now, though, he could see that they would never see eye to eye. Nico was dedicated to the approval of his father, and Percy was dedicated to Annabeth. Nico still fought for the Olympians, and Percy had lost faith in the gods. 

He charged. He kicked up sand as he moved, Nico steadying into a fighting stance. Their swords clashed, and Percy yelled something unintelligible as he dodged a strike. He swung Riptide in an arc, the golden blade slashing through the air like a golden bullet. 

Nico parried and stabbed back at Percy. He had become a stronger swordsman since the last time they had fought back in Camp Half-Blood’s practice arena. He was enveloped in shadows as he moved across the sand, as if he were wrapping the darkness of the nighttime across their battlefield even in the light of day. 

“Come on, Nico!” Percy yelled, blocking another strike. “You know you can’t win this!” 

Nico didn’t take the bait, just focusing on holding his own. He was a good fighter, Percy could recognize that easily, but Percy had taken on the offensive and he had several years of training over Nico. 

Percy kept his back to where Hazel and Grover were, and he could hear Grover’s distinct pan pipes calling out to the beach saltbushes growing on the dunes. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to build a tunnel to the Underworld, but he figured it would be a long time, and Hazel’s powers always drained her. He just had to outlast Nico. 

Nico moved to an offensive stance, striking at Percy’s neck. He didn’t think Nico would kill him, but he wasn’t sure how far he would go for the approval of his father. There was a time, Percy remembered, when he would have killed for Poseidon just to acknowledge him. 

Percy dodged the strike, ducking under Nico’s sword and landing in the sand. He rolled over towards the water, catching a shimmering stone wall made of Mist where Hazel was shifting the sands. 

Nico knew better than to let Percy near the water, though, and stepped between him and the ocean. His hand was steady around the hilt of his sword, face grim as he struck again. Percy stood, breathing hard. Sand was caked into his left side, soaking wet stripes into his t-shirt. 

He kept Riptide out in front of him, one hand around the grip, the other stretched to the side. The blade caught the light, softened only by the sand sticking to the edge. He dove forward, slashing out at Nico’s side again, but Nico dodged the cut. 

Percy cursed under his breath as the two switched places, Percy now with his back to the water. He didn’t have to think about it before he had a wave building up behind him, pulling as much water as he could from the bay, like a wall of ocean to protect him. 

Nico eyed the ocean barrier behind Percy, lips parted in a strangled protest. Percy didn’t care (Nico was here to fight him, to stop him, and Percy wasn’t going to hold back, not when he was so close to getting what he wanted). Percy reached out his free hand, the wave curled into a fist behind him. He thrust his hand forward, and the fist collapsed onto Nico, drowning him in Percy’s ocean. 

Percy pulled back after a moment, feeling a tug in his gut. The ocean didn’t want to fight this battle, it wanted to be held back in the bay. There was something contesting his power, but Percy didn’t have time to think about it.

He moved forward, Riptide severing the air between him and Nico. Nico was gasping for breath and dripping wet, but he blocked the strike without appearing to have lost any motivation. Before Percy could make another move, Nico slashed as him again. Percy blocked the first strike, but Nico’s sword curved through the air up at Percy’s cheek again, and there was a stinging pain. 

Percy didn’t take note of it. He just cracked his neck and struck at Nico again. He had borne worse pains. Nico jumped back, but stumbled on the heavy sand. 

He swung Riptide down, slashing down at Nico’s shoulder. It made contact, slicing through his black t-shirt and leaving a long cut across his pale skin. Nico cursed, falling back. There was something fearful in his eyes, something that Percy didn’t take too long to think about. He stepped forward, slashing under Nico’s guard, watching as Nico fell. 

Sand was tangled in Nico’s unkempt hair, and he dropped his sword. He lay down, watching Percy with something wild in his eyes. His chest was heaving, an animalistic fear in his eyes. Percy felt like a monster, backing Nico into this corner with no way out. 

He stood over Nico, moving the tip of Riptide to Nico’s throat. The blade dug in slightly, just enough to push a drop of red blood against his skeletal white skin. 

“You were brave,” Percy whispered, kneeling down to come face to face with Nico. His knees dug into the sand, and he could feel Nico’s panicked breath on his cheek. “I’ll tell Hades that you tried.” 

Nico evaporated into a shadow, falling through the sand into some faraway place where Percy couldn’t reach him. He hoped that Hades wouldn’t be too mad at his son, not when Nico had fought so hard. 

Percy kneeled down in the sand, dropping Riptide and taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes for only a moment, trying to forget the fear that had been in Nico’s eyes when he had fallen on his back. He touched his cheek gingerly, his fingers coming away with blood. The cut stretched from the bottom of his eye down to the corner of his mouth, and the sting reminded him of another villain and another scar. 

He swallowed down the memory, beginning to stand and walk over to Hazel and Grover. Hazel’s Mist-made wall fell down into a shimmer of fog, and she turned to Percy fearfully as he reached them. 

“Did you hurt him?” she asked, anxiety aching in her words (she was afraid of him, afraid of what he had done, Percy realized, but he couldn’t -- he couldn’t accept that because that would kill him). 

“He’s okay,” Percy said quietly. 

Grover bit his lip, nervously rubbing at his pan pipes (Grover couldn’t be afraid of him, please, gods, don’t let Grover be afraid, Percy pled silently). “Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” Percy confirmed. He didn’t feel hurt at all. “Where are we at with the tunnel?” 

“We’re okay,” Hazel said, motioning towards the deep tunnel into the dunes she had formed. There was water leaking through the bottom of it, but it held steady as Percy examined it. “The Underworld is farther down than I first thought, but this is a weak point. We’ll come out somewhere in the Asphodel Fields.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Percy said. He turned to Grover. “Sound good to you, G-man?” 

Grover smiled. “All good. I love going down through dark beach tunnels into the land of the dead to confront the god of the Underworld. Sounds like a perfectly sound plan to me.” 

Percy clapped him on the back, grinning. It reminded him of when he was fifteen, following Orpheus’ path down to the Underworld. That brought his mind back to Nico, though, and his smile faded. “Perfect.” 

“Percy,” Hazel said slowly, eyes widening suddenly. “Percy, behind you.” 

Percy turned, swearing as he saw it. He hadn’t been imagining it earlier, there actually had been something resisting his power when he tried to control the water. Crawling through the shallow waves was a giant -- 

“Is that a kraken?” Percy asked, frowning at it. “Is that even Greek?” 

“It’s Norse,” Hazel said, drawing her spatha. “But I think that’s Ketos, the original sea serpent.” 

He roared, rows of teeth clawing for space throughout his mouth, a red long flickering through the air. It had a long, snake-like body that curved through the water. Thin tentacle-arms stretched out from the slithering body, helping propel it through the water and nearer to the sand. It hadn’t been several serpents the Romans had talked of, it had been one large sea monster-- one that was currently very angry with him. 

“I don’t think it liked me playing with its bath,” Percy guessed. 

Hazel shook her head. “Not at all. How do we stop it?” 

“Perseus fought it,” Grover said helpfully. “Way back when.” 

“How did he defeat it?” Hazel asked, unsure of the Roman version of the myth. The Imperial Gold of her sword shimmered in the light, and Ketos bellowed again. 

Percy sighed, turning Riptide over in his fist. “With Medusa’s head. Which we, unfortunately, do not have anymore.” 

“Great,” Hazel muttered. “Why’d you even mention that, Grover?” 

Grover shrugged. He didn’t have any weapons, so he was just brandishing his pan pipes as if a Hilary Duff song was going to help them. “I thought maybe being Perseus’ namesake would give Percy an extra blessing.” 

“Only one way to find out,” Percy said, and charged. 

He wasn’t thinking when he charged towards Ketos, and he definitely wasn’t thinking when he summoned a wave and used it to propel himself onto the monster’s head. He landed on his feet, grabbing at one of the slimy horns with his free hand. The scales were slippery, and he stumbled for grip as he found himself poised on its head, which was three times bigger than him. 

He could see Hazel and Grover rushing to help, their running impeded by the sand. Ketos roared again, a guttural scream as it threw its head back to try to shake him. Percy held on, slashing at the neck. Riptide barely made a dent in the thick skin, and it just seemed to make the monster angrier.

Hazel was waist deep into the water, making her way towards the tentacles. She managed to grab onto one as the monster flailed, holding onto the fin for dear life. 

“Percy!” she yelled, her voice barely carrying above the monster’s roaring. “The arms!” 

He frowned at her as Ketos bucked again, almost sending him flying off. He stabbed at the base of the horn, hoping to find blood. The blade just bounced off the thick scales. 

“Cut them off!” Hazel yelled again, stabbing at one with her spatha. The gold flashed through the air, and Ketos screamed, the end of its tail flying from behind them to try to knock the two demigods off of it. Percy vaguely wondered if they could get it to tie itself into a knot before he understood what Hazel was saying. 

The ocean was churning as Keto flailed and roared, occasionally snapping at poor Grover, who was knee deep in the water and yelling to get its attention. He waved his arms around, yelling insults to keep Ketos’ beady eyes on him. 

“Come on you green fish! You misshapen snake! What kind of snake has arms, you -- you poison ivy looking tendril?” 

Percy wasn’t quite sure where the insults were coming from, but the monster seemed to be offended and was focusing on Grover. Percy took advantage of the distraction to slide down Ketos’ neck, landing on the other tentacle. He held on as his fingers almost slipped from the fin, the scales slick with ocean spray and seaweed. He didn’t want to think about what other gross parts of the ocean he was clinging onto in that moment. 

He sliced down with Riptide, a rough shout coming from his tongue as the blade met the thin membrane of the fin. It finally drew blood, a thick blue substance that oozed from the cut over Percy’s hands. Ketos flapped the fin underwater, and Percy was thrust below the waves. 

He had never been more grateful he could breathe underwater than when Ketos dunked him under the water. Despite the whirlpool the monster was generating with all the flailing, Percy could feel the water running through him like an energy current, rejuvenating him. When Ketos raised the tentacle again, Percy was still holding on (he didn’t want to think about how Hazel was fairing). 

Riptide was slick with saltwater and it almost fell out of his hand as he stabbed at the tentacle again. It sliced through the membrane, reaching the monster’s bone. Ketos roared, and the end of the tail came up from behind Percy to knock him off. He was tossed into the water, pushed below the current. 

He opened his eyes underwater, the sunlight streaming through the waves and hitting his skin. Despite the fight above the water, it felt more peaceful here in the waves than life had felt in a long time. 

Despite himself, he propelled himself through the waves to jump out of the water. He landed back on the tentacle arm, and sent Riptide slicing through the arm. The arm fell, tearing away from Ketos’ body. The monsters screeched, the sound something from hell. 

Percy fell back into the water, this time swimming towards the beach. Grover was dodging bites as the monster carved its teeth through the air trying to get at Grover. He was still yelling insults, but the monster had been thrown off balance by the loss of its arm. 

It rolled over to the side, landing on the one arm that was still there. Hazel was pushed underwater, her scream cut off as the water filled her throat. Percy cursed, jumping back into the deeper end of the water to find her. 

He swam as fast as he could, trying to cut through the water while avoiding the crashing sea monster. Hazel was caught under the trunk of the monster, and she was running out of breath. She met his eyes, reaching out a hand desperately. 

He grabbed it, pulling her towards him. He pulled her out from under, and she swam towards the surface. Hazel burst into the air with a gasp, her hair matted down by the water. 

“Did you cut it off?” she asked through gasps. “It can’t -- ”

“Breathe,” Percy said, pulling her back to where they could stand. The monster was on its side, still trying to regain its balance and choking on the water that flooded through its open jaw.

Hazel took a deep breath, wiping the water out of her eyes. “It’s a sea monster, it's designed to move through the water by wiggling up and down. It won’t be able to move on land without the arms.” 

“Cut off the arms,” Percy said, following her train of thought. “Beach it, then kill it while it can’t move.” 

Hazel nodded. Water still dripped from the curls in her hair, and she coughed lightly. “Exactly. But I can’t hold on long enough while its failing around like that.” 

“I’ve got it,” Percy said, squeezing her arm. “Go help Grover get it on land.” 

“Good luck,” she said, before wading back to shore. 

Percy waited a moment, just until she reached Grover, before he summoned another wave and rode it to the monster’s back. This side was just as slimy as the other side, and he struggled to get a grip on the tentacle for a minute before the monster flipped over, sitting straight up again. 

The monster roared, frantically moving the tentacle around. Percy held on, drawing the sword he clenched tightly in his fist. He slashed downwards are Ketos reared its neck, and cut downwards, cutting the tentacle off in a clean stroke. 

Ketos collapsed downwards, a tsunami of a splash sending waves rippling out from their struggle to the rest of the bay. Percy jumped off into surprisingly shallow water, and managed to walk towards the beach. 

While he had been focused on cutting off the arm, Hazel and Grover had been yelling insults and bait at the monster, and it had slowly crawled onto the sand. When its arm had fallen, the bone shattering into the waves for some lucky fisherman to find later, it had thrust itself forward in a final grab at eating Hazel, and ended up collapsing on the beach. Only the tip of its tail still rested in the water, the hardened point there tangled in kelp. 

It writhed on the beach like a whale trying to find its way back to the sea, and Grover stared at it sadly. 

“There’s a soft spot at its neck,” Hazel said, fist tight around her spatha. “I bet if you stabbed there, it would die.” 

Percy nodded, walking over to the serpent. Its eyes widened as Percy climbed up its neck, and it gave a mournful roar. The earth was sticking to the scales, coating it in a sandy membrane that was quickly drying out its skin. The scales, once sandy, made for good footholds as Percy climbed up. 

His swordhand found the chink in its armor easily, and Ketos roared again, trying to buck its head. But it couldn’t move well on the sand, its neck suddenly too heavy to pull up. He stabbed Riptide down, the blade sinking into the muscle and skin of the serpent, and it disintegrated beneath him.

Percy was covered in dust as he fell from the neck back to the sand, landing hard on his knees. Hazel rushed over, a hand already reaching out to help him stand again. He made sure she was okay, squeezing her arm gently. 

She reached out to touch his cheek, where the saltwater had begun to heal the cut. “There’s gonna be a scar,” she said softly. “Is that from Nico?” 

Percy just shrugged. “Grover, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Grover said, but he was staring at the dust where Ketos had been. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” Hazel asked. She was frowning, as if she understood something that Percy wouldn’t ever. 

Grover nodded. “Ketos...he didn’t come for a fight. He wasn’t really struggling against us.” 

“It kinda felt like it was,” Percy said. 

“We started the fight,” Grover reminded him. He couldn’t meet Percy’s eyes, and Percy felt sick. “He was just trying to defend his home. He didn’t like a bunch of teenagers fighting on his front steps.” 

Percy swallowed, capping Riptide. “I can’t afford to think like that.” 

He just had to keep marching on, keep fighting. That was the way the world turned. There were monsters and there were victims and there were heroes, and one of them was going to have to die in every fight. He didn’t want to name who was who (sometimes he thought maybe he was the monster, hellbent on justice against death). 

“Come on,” Hazel said, voice hard. Percy could trust her to keep everyone together while Grover was wallowing in empathy and Percy was drowning in self loathing. “The tunnel is open, we have to get moving.” 

Percy nodded. “Lead the way, Centurion.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify, this is a flashback!

“Be honored, little demigods. Even the Olympians were never worthy of my personal attention. But you will be destroyed by Tartarus himself.”

The fear radiating from the primordial god of the pit was coming in waves, rolling over him and Annabeth and the monsters and the Titans, settling into their veins and thoughts and shaking hands. 

“Percy,” Annabeth whispered. 

He could hear her from where he was standing on the side of the Doors, could hear her voice soft in fear. He reached for her, but all he found were the frozen chains. Tartarus cackled, a grating and forbidding sound, and he kept rising, wreathed in shadow and bone. 

If the gods were good, this would be where Annabeth stepped in with some wise trickery, some plot to defeat the enemy that was infinitely stronger than they were. This would be where Percy raised his sword with a determination that the monsters didn’t have. This would be where they stood back to back and stared down the pit together. 

But the gods were not good, and the two didn’t fight. The sheer terror was embroiled in their bones, aching down to their muscles and organs. Percy couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t think past the total fear in his head. 

The monsters were pacing around them, hordes of hellhounds and emposai and cyclops. They were a gory sight, freshly reincarnated with horns and red eyes and wings and talons. They were ready to fight, ready to find him and get a taste of the gods they couldn’t win against. 

Percy could have fought any of those, could have brought his sword up and stood with Annabeth at his back and killed all of them. He could have run through a thousand monsters, a hundred evil mortals. He could have made a final stand against any of those things. 

He thought back to every quest he had gone on before, every fight he had won. He had fought Lycanthropes and giant crabs and myrmekes and sphinxes, and he had killed a thousand lesser monsters. He had been cursed by every one of them, the arai had taught him that. He had won battles against Polyphemus and Kampê and Medusa and the Nemean Lion. He had made the gods proud, been a champion of Olympus. 

But he didn’t have a chance against Tartarus. He couldn’t even bring himself to move. A list of accomplishments meant nothing in the face of death. When he met Charon at the River Styx, he wouldn’t care about the thousand battles he won-- he cared that Percy had died. 

This was it, Percy realized, through the thickness of the fear. But the monsters weren’t attacking, at least not yet. They were waiting for Tartarus to act. They were giving the god the pleasure of tearing them to pieces. 

He flexed his fingers, the nails like talons and the joints like bricks. When he spoke, his words were a whirlpool, pulling everything towards him, stretching the very landscape itself. 

“It is good to have form,” he said. It reverberated in Percy’s head, a beat he wouldn’t ever get out of his dreams. “With these hands, I can eviscerate you. With these fingers, I can choke you. With this mouth I can devour you. With these eyes, I can see you.” 

Percy’s hands were shaking, his fingers barely keeping their grip around Riptide. The sword had lost its glint, and he realized that all the light in the pit was fading. There was nothing left except for the darkness, except for Tartarus himself. 

“Your fear smells wonderful,” the god hissed. “And this is only the beginning.” 

His voice was like flames, licking up Percy’s wrist and melting into his skin. His voice was like the shadows themselves, all encompassing and eating into the sunlight. His voice was like gravity, pulling him down through the earth and into hell. 

Percy looked up, trying to find the god’s eyes, but there was only a melting mass of shadows. He rose up in front of him like a mountain, a hundred feet tall. His body was a part of the pit, but it was something separate, too, rising higher than the cavern ceilings. 

Percy tried to raise Riptide, but the faceless god was smiling. He was taking his time, enjoying his physical form. He wanted the pleasure of ripping them apart, tearing up their skin and arteries and muscles. Their bones would become another link in his armor. 

He dropped his sword. 

It hit the ground with an echoing thud, and then it was quiet. He was defenseless and standing against this being which had seen the beginning of the universe, and who would see the end. Percy was nothing compared to this divinity. He had no right to have survived this far. 

Tartarus laughed, scathing and dark. 

“You are weak, Perseus Jackson. You have only lived because your father wills it so, but he cannot protect you here.” 

Percy’s hands were still shaking, sweat lining his palms. He couldn’t look away from Tartarus, he couldn’t find any of the hope he had been clinging onto since he had fallen in this pit with Annabeth ---

He turned to find her, to hold her hand, to keep her close. They could make their final stand together, as they always had. The heartbeat in the ground was echoing their promises to each other, beating like a broken kind of hope that Percy couldn’t name. 

_You’re not getting away from me. Never again. _

His mouth opened, his tongue cotton dry but searching for words. 

“Annabeth,” he whispered. 

He turned his head, looking to the side, and found her, a brave spot of sun in the darkness. She had her sword in her hand, staring up at Tartarus, but the fear was etched into every line on her face. There were tear tracks on her cheeks. He wondered if they were seeing the same thing, the same terror that smelled like years of abuse and rotting skin and sounded like the screaming in his head. 

“You cannot kill me,” Tartarus said, voice drawn and quartered. “I am the pit itself. You might as well try to kill the earth. Gaia and I -- we are eternal. We own you, flesh and spirit.” 

He roared, spreading hand and pounding his fists on the cavern walls. Rocks rained down on them, a boulder crushing a cyclops behind Percy. The ground shook as he roared, the sound enough to make the earth itself shatter. 

Percy wanted to scream, but he couldn’t make his mouth move, he couldn’t find the hope in him to make sound at all. He moved slowly, trying to step towards Annabeth, reach her. They would protect each other, and if they were going to die, he wanted to die next to her. 

Tartarus leaned down, his fingers reaching out, dark and ghostly. The nails were curved down, sharp as a razor blade, the knuckles covered in wisps of hair that looked more like knives. His head was getting closer, and Percy was beginning to be able to make out ghostly eye sockets filled with nothing. There was no soul behind those eyes, there was nothing good in there. There was only torment and wicked punishment. 

His words made Percy melt into his fear, made the cavern collapse under his feet. 

“You cannot save the things you love most, and you are no hero.” 

In one swift motion, the ancient deity hit Annabeth, the back of his hand connecting with her body and sending her flying to the side. She was reaching out, trying to find a grip on the air, but there were no miracles in this pit, there were no gods or heroes to protect them here, and she crashed onto the ground.

She fell, her stomach pierced by a stalagmite, her head cracking onto a rock, blood gushing from her lips, staining her ghostly skin with umber. Percy could hear her heart stop from across the room. 

She didn’t move. 

Percy screamed, a guttural and broken sound that ripped through his throat like sandpaper. He landed hard on his knees, the bones popping. He was screaming, not out of fear, not out of terror, out of something broken in his heartstrings that wouldn’t ever heal. _Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth --_

Tartarus laughed, loud and sinful. He was rejoicing in Percy’s broken sobbing, he was victorious in the broken screams Percy could barely hear himself make.

Annabeth was so still. The stalagmite went straight through her stomach, the blood dripping down the rock and soaking into the earth. Her eyes were still open, glass and unseeing. As if there had never been life there in the first place. 

She had Athena’s eyes, but Athena was nowhere to be found. She had godly roots, ichor running in her veins, but she was bleeding red. She had fought wars for the Olympians, but none of them were there to mourn. She had been so brave, but bravery was nothing against death. 

“Fight on hero,” Tartarus bellowed, his voice filling the cavern with a glory Percy would never know. 

Percy screamed again, a battle cry this time, clawing at the ground to find Riptide. He gripped the sword in his hand, staggering to his feet. Before he could dare Tartarus to fight him (he would now, he had nothing to lose, he would fight and he would win, he would tear the god apart and eat him raw), Tartarus waved a hand and gust of wind pushed him away. His back slammed into the Doors, and they opened behind him. 

He collapsed into the elevator, and the last thing he saw before the Doors closed was Tartarus laughing. 

“Go to the waking world,” Tartarus howled. “And know that you will never be strong enough, Perseus Jackson.”


	10. Chapter 10

Walking through the tunnel was like crawling further into the heart of the earth, knowing you were going to burn at the center, yet still marching on. The dirt sometimes crumbled from the walls or ceilings onto Percy’s shoulders. Sometimes holes would appear in the walls where there hadn’t been holes before. A worm or centipede would sometimes carve a slimy path under his feet. 

Grover whimpered quietly as they walked. His fear of the underground had been lessened after their journey in the Labyrinth, but that didn’t mean the innate fear all satyrs had just disappeared. Percy squeezed his shoulder, his other hand tight around Riptide. 

Hazel led the way, her muscles tight and on guard as they moved forwards. The light grew darker, shadows arching over and in front of them, but she didn’t seem afraid. This was her element, war and death and treasure and dirt. 

“It’s gonna be awhile,” Hazel said, stopping to glance back at the two boys. “Do you guys want to stop for a minute?” 

Percy shook his head. “I’m fine. Grover?” 

“Oh I’m good,” Grover said. “I’d love to keep on walking towards the god of the dead. It has not been a hard enough day yet.” 

Hazel laughed, and Percy managed to crack a smile. “You can go back, man. I can’t ask you to risk everything by going further. You got me here. That’s enough.” 

“We’re your friends,” Grover said, suddenly serious. “Sometimes that means travelling to the Underworld and risking everything. That’s just how it is.” 

Percy was pretty sure that it wasn’t supposed to be like that-- friendship wasn’t supposed to be travelling to the land of the dead, it was supposed to be playing basketball and sharing popcorn at the movies. But he was thankful anyways, however convoluted their world is. 

“Thank you guys,” he said quietly. “Let’s keep going. We’re so close.” 

They kept walking, this time with Grover in the front and Hazel next to Percy. The tunnel seemed endless. They could only see a few feet in front of them, just more dirt and shadow. The air was getting progressively colder, as they got closer to the land of the dead. 

Percy could easily recall his first trip to the Underworld, the long boat ride across the River Styx and all the broken dreams that fell into it. It made him shiver, even after everything he’s been through. He remembered standing on the raft, Annabeth gripping his hand tightly. He had wanted the reminder that there was someone else living on that boat, someone on his side. Annabeth had always been that person. 

He was going to get her back now. They could hold hands when they walked across the River Styx again, and it would be okay. His love for Annabeth wouldn’t be another one of the broken dreams drowning in the river.

It was so dark in the tunnel, though, and half of him felt like he was back in Tartarus, falling under those walls. Like the god of the pit or the goddess of the earth was going to rise up in front of them and tear them apart for trespassing. Logically, he knew the Gaia had been defeated and Tartarus was sleeping in the pit, but it was dark and damp and the dirt felt familiar under his feet. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

“We met when we were twelve,” Percy said, looking at Hazel. It was comforting, to talk without having to fear being heard. It was a reminder that the ground wasn’t made of fire and the air made of poison. “She was this hot-headed, sharp minded, knife fighter. She wanted to go out into the real world and fight monsters more than anything else. She was desperate for a quest.” 

“She was brave,” Hazel murmured. She hadn’t known Annabeth long, but she had loved her as soon as they had truly gotten to know each other. Annabeth was hard to get a read on when you first met her, Percy knew that first hand, but once she opened up, she was easily lovable. 

Percy nodded. “She was the bravest person I know. She ran away from home when she was seven, fought untrained until she made it to camp with Grover. It seems impossible that she survived.”

“She had the makings of a hero,” Grover added. His voice was soft, aching with memory. “Even then.” 

“She led a quest when we were fifteen,” Percy said, smiling to himself. In the dark, that was just enough light. “The prophecy she got told her that someone she loved would suffer a fate worse than death, but she went on the quest anyways. She thought she could change it.” 

“Did she change it?” Hazel asked

“No,” Percy said simply. “She didn’t. But she went on anyways and kept fighting. Like I said, brave.” 

“I wish I had known her better,” Hazel confessed. “But you love her so much, it feels like I know her.” 

Percy smiled, bumping her shoulder with his own. “I’m gonna get her back, and you guys can hang out, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Hazel said, smiling. “Tell me more about her.” 

“She had a hard childhood,” Grover said. “Her real family was at Camp Half-Blood, where her friends were. Chiron was like her father. He loved her like one.”

“Everyone loves her, at camp.” Percy sniffled, his voice thick with grief. Time didn’t heal anything, he was sure of that much. “She’s a leader. She teaches the Ancient Greek classes. She taught me how to read Ancient Greek.” 

Grover chuckled. “She was twelve and teaching some of the new older campers how to read. Gods of Olympus, she was smart as all hell. She would make strategies for Capture the Flag even though she wasn’t head counselor.” 

“She had a plan for everything. She hated not knowing things, or not being prepared.” Percy smiled inwardly. “Have you ever been to Olympus, Hazel? The godly one, not the mountain.” 

Hazel shook her head. A curl fell in front of her eyes, and she brushed it behind her ear, shooting a smile at Percy. “I’d like to. Roman gods don’t really like having their kids around, though, and Pluto isn’t welcome anyways.” 

Grover made a sad noise. He kicked a small stone ahead of them. “It’s beautiful. You’re missing out.” 

“Annabeth designed it,” Percy added, pride thick in his voice. “After the Titan War, it was a wreck, so she redesigned it. All of it.”

“There are snack bars and statues and gardens and -- I could go on forever,” Grover said, grinning as he glanced back at them. “She was an incredible architect.” 

“She’s gonna build a New Athens, at Camp Half-Blood,” Percy told them. “Like New Rome but for Greek demigods.” 

Hazel nodded. “That’s gonna be really cool, Percy.” 

“Yeah,” Percy agreed, sighing. “There are so many things she’s going to do, Hazel, so many incredible things. I can’t wait to see them all.” 

“Me too.” Hazel hesitated, looking at her feet for a moment before looking back up and saying, “What’re you going to say? When you see Pluto-- Hades, I mean?” 

“I’m going to tell him what I want,” Percy said. “And bargain for it. Ask for a deal. He likes deals, right?” 

Grover shrugged. “He might not want to risk it. You two aren’t exactly friends.” 

“Well, we fight on the same side, mostly, don’t we?” Percy asked. He trailed a hand along the dirt wall, feeling it crumble beneath his fingers. 

Hazel pushed his arm down with a warning look. He moved, reluctant to do so, but not wanting the tunnel to collapse underneath him. Hazel looked away, saying, “That might not be enough. He doesn’t want to look weak in front of the other gods.” 

“What about kind?” Percy suggested. 

“Since when do gods care about being kind?” Grover said. 

Percy swallowed, not replying. Grover was right-- the gods’ main goal had never been kindness. They never did things without a price to pay. Hades especially. If he gave you something, you would owe him something more. He wasn’t the villain so many made him out to be, but he was still strict and cold. He still cashed in on his prizes. 

He brought down hell on people who cheated death, whether it was Sisyphus and his endless climb, or Asclepius who once raised the dead. People didn’t just cross Hades without punishment-- the Greeks had no special love or hate for the god of the dead, but they had rightful fear of him. 

But Percy didn’t care. He had to believe Hades would give him a chance. If he didn’t believe that, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Heroes never got anywhere without hope. He wasn’t afraid of Hades, and he didn’t care what might be done to him (he had nothing left to lose). 

“Grover,” Hazel said, interrupting his thoughts. “Stop-- there’s something in front of us.” 

Grover froze where he stood, staring straight into the darkness. His senses were always thrown off underground, and it was worse with the fear that had soaked into the air after their conversation had ended. “What is it?” 

“I’m not sure,” Hazel murmured, but she raised her spatha. The golden blade seemed to glitter, even without any light. Before she could continue, her eyes widened. 

Percy followed her gaze, squinting to try to see the invisible threat. In the darkness, a figure seemed to flicker in front of them, like a black and white hologram. It was clearly a person, draped in ancient mourning dress, his eyes sunken in and hollow. 

“I have to warn you,” the figure murmured. His voice was soft, lilting, like every word was a melody, but one with notes just outside of his vocal range. “Do not venture any further.” 

“Who are you?” Grover asked. He had taken several steps back, and Percy put a hand on his shoulder before stepping in front of him and Hazel. 

The man sighed. “You don’t know me?” 

Percy shook his head, and the man seemed to grow a thousand years older. 

“Once upon a time, my name was common upon the tongues of every god, demigod, and mortal in Greece,” he said. “It’s pitiful that heroes now do not know it. What you call artistry today is nothing compared to what it once was. Drake? Blood on the Dance Floor? It’s damned shameful, may Apollon curse them all.” 

Percy dropped his eyes to the man’s hand, where he clutched an instrument between nimble fingers-- a lyre. His grip was strong, but he had no intention of fighting. The strength was in the curl of his wrist rather than the length of his arms. 

“Orpheus,” Hazel said. “The first hero to travel into and back from the Underworld.” 

“And I paid for it,” the ghostly Orpheus said. “It’s my fate to appear to all wishful heroes to stop them. I have met and stopped a thousand heroes, and failed to save a thousand more.” 

Percy could easily recognize the anguish of heartbreak in his voice-- he could hear it in his own voice every day. Orpheus just wanted to bring his beloved back. He didn’t want to usurp Hades or fight him. He was just a man in love. But for all that love, Hades was still punishing him for all eternity. 

“I have to try,” Percy told him. He had lowered his sword. 

Orpheus shook his head. A dark strand of hair fell in front of his face, and in that moment, he looked like Akhlys: the pure embodiment of misery and regret. “It’s a mistake, Perseus.” 

He was a minion of Hades, Percy knew that. Part of him thought that he was just lying to do Hades’ bidding, to get the job done as quickly as possible. Wouldn’t it have been better to try and fail than to not know at all? 

But there was something truly tragic in his words, as if he had thought that very idea through a million times. As if he knew both ways, both results, and knew he had chosen the wrong path. Percy supposed he had been spending the last millennia thinking through his mistakes. 

“I could have waited for her, joined her in Elysium,” Orpheus said softly. He met Percy’s eyes. “But now, even in death, I cannot be with my dear Eurydice. I will be with heroes like you. That is my true punishment. Not being alone in life, but being alone in death, for all eternity, while she waits for someone who is never coming.” 

Percy swallowed. The tunnel seemed to be closing in on him, warping his vision until the world was just him and this broken ghost. “Can’t I just, you know, not look behind me?” 

Orpheus smiled, but it was a miserable twist of his lips. “Hades gives you a task he knows you can never complete. My fatal flaw was self-doubt. He knew that, and he sent me on a path made specifically for me.” 

“I’m not you,” Percy said, stumbling over the words. Who was he to say he was stronger or wiser than this ghost, who had seen a thousand heroes fail at this very task? He tried to summon some confidence anyways. “There was the guy, Hazel told me, in the 50s. He did it.” 

“He got away with it, yes.” Orpheus sighed, taking the lyre in his other hand. The lyre was bigger than any of the ones Percy had seen at Camp Half-Blood, with fingerprints worn into the gold paint. “But when the couple died, she went to Elysium while he went to the Asphodel Fields. Making the gods look weak isn’t a heroic trait.” 

Percy bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know what was going to happen after death, he just knew that Annabeth deserved better than death. If the man’s wife had gone to Elysium… Percy could live in Asphodel if it meant Annabeth got to grow old before going to Elysium. 

“If I live my life afraid of death,” Percy said quietly. “I’ll never live at all.” 

It was something that his mom had told him, after a nightmare about Tartarus. He had been terrified then, curled up into her, despite being seventeen. When he died, he had told her, he would go back to the Underworld, in underground caverns for all eternity. There would be no escaping Tartarus. 

Orpheus sighed again. His toga was blowing in the non-existent wind. “If you live your life obsessing over her, you’ll never live at all either.” 

“No,” Percy said firmly. “I’m not obsessing. I’m being brave, for once in my damned life. I can do it. I will get her back.” 

“You can try,” Orpheus told him. “If you do, listen closely. Do not, for any reason, listen to what is happening behind you. Only pay attention to putting one foot in front of you. You have doubts about your abilities, Hades has seen that. But in order to save her, you cannot doubt yourself. Believe you’re strong enough, and you will be.” 

Percy nodded. “I can do that. No doubts. No looking back.” 

“Have faith in your abilities,” Orpheus continued. “You _are_ a hero, Perseus. You’ve saved so many lives over the years, done so many great things. You are a hero, whether you feel it or not. And if you can’t do this -- ”

“I can,” Percy interrupted. 

He looked to his side, hoping to find some confidence in Hazel and Grover, but there was no one there. The tunnel was dark and silent, just the crumbling walls and the damp dirt under his feet. 

“Hades has sent your friends above,” Orpheus said as Percy turned back to face him. “You can have no help in this task.” 

“I’m close,” Percy guessed. 

“Yes,” Orpheus told him honestly. “Hades has decided you’re worthy enough to speak with him. But that doesn’t mean you’re worthy enough to win.” 

Percy took a deep breath. “It’s a start. My friends-- they’ll be safe?” 

“They’ll be fine,” Orpheus said. “They’ve been returned to the beach, where they will wait for you. What happens now is between you and Hades Agesander alone.” 

“Agesander?”

Orpheus had a grim smile. He plucked at the lyre absentmindedly, and the sole note was as haunting as his bruised eyes. “One of his many epithets: Hades, he who carries away all.” 

“Great,” Percy muttered. He met Orpheus’ eyes. He had to be stronger than Orpheus had been. Stronger than Hades believed him to be. He would be the hero this time, not the crying son who could only watch as his best friend and girlfriend died. “Bring me to Hades.” 

“As you wish.”


	11. Chapter 11

Orpheus led Percy further down the tunnel. As they walked, the ghost grew brighter and the sunlight grew dimmer. Percy kept Riptide raised as they made their way, the dim glow of the blade comforting in the blackness.

Soon enough, the tunnel widened out as they entered the massive caverns of the Underworld. They came out onto a ledge, a steep slope leading down to the edge of the Asphodel Fields There weren’t many shades wandering around this part, so close to Hades’ obsidian palace. 

“This is as far as I can take you,” Orpheus said, voice soft and sweet. “Make your way inside, Perseus Jackson. When you die, I’ll write a beautiful elegy for you and your lover. Good luck.” 

That wasn’t glowing confidence, but Percy nodded thankfully anyways. Orpheus shimmered before disappearing, fading away into the twilight darkness of the land of the dead. He wondered where Orpheus went, when there were no heroes to talk to. He wondered if he was watching him from a prison somewhere, just waiting for Hades to grant him mercy so he could find Eurydice. 

He walked slowly, his sneakers crunching against the dead grass and leaves on the ground. It was springtime, which meant Persephone was nowhere to be found down here. All the living things were dying. 

There were still non-living treasures, though, half dug up and half buried in the earth. He could spot rubies and diamonds, lining the dying garden edges. Scattered around the fields were stone statues, products of Auntie M. All were decorated with horrified, screaming mouths and gaping stone eyes. There were rose bushes, all dipped and frozen in gold. He wondered if Persephone appreciated all of these dead beauties. As the goddess of springtime, she had no place in a garden of dead things. 

But there was something beautiful about it-- the trees bearing fruits made of diamond and amber, the stone jackalopes with turquoise eyes, the blood red pomegranate seeds littering the garden like weeds (one taste and he’d be here forever). 

“Oh, Perseus Jackson,” someone said, voice frail and faltering. 

Percy jumped, drawing Riptide on instinct. In the bushes to his left, hidden just next to the palace doors, was an old man. He looked the way a crueler Dumbledore might have looked-- with a long, scraggly beard that reached his knees, and broken glasses perched on a wrinkled hook nose. His eyes were clouded over, but Percy quickly realized he wasn’t blind-- he was crying. A film of tears washed over his irises, dripping over his eyelids as fast as they appeared there. 

The man stood, stumbling over his feet. He slipped in a puddle of tears, the resulting mud slick over his toenails. His bones cracked as he moved, and he seemed to swim in the torn up rags he wore for clothes. Translucent skin slid easily over his bones, loose over all his unused muscles. 

He was hunched over, but he looked up at Percy, thin eyebrows raised. “Come closer, oh I have seen you in dreams, but you’re even better in person.” 

Percy didn’t move, just kept his sword raised. After fighting so many monsters, he knew better than to trust someone because they looked old and weak. The smell of death was radiating off this old man in waves of tears. “Who are you?” 

“Oh, but we are so close!” the old man cried. Tears slid down his cheek, making their way through the wrinkles and dripping off his chin. He reached towards Percy, his fingernails hooked and yellow. “You know me so well, Perseus.” 

“I don’t know you,” Percy said, stepping back. Part of him wanted to twist his hand upwards, tear the tears right off of this man’s face, suffocate him in his veins, but he was here for Annabeth and he didn’t want to scare her before he could even see her. “Don’t come any closer.” 

The man laughed, a scratching noise that reminded Percy of the old broken cassettes his mother kept out of nostalgia. He coughed on the laugh, choking on the mucus in his throat. 

“No one wants me any closer,” he said, “but I will not hurt you. Unlike my sister, I do not invite misery. I simply bear it.” 

“Who are you?” Percy asked, voice cracking. 

Just being near the old man made him want to cry, his eyes welling up with tears. He wanted to drop his sword and fall to his knees, weep for Annabeth, for all the people he had seen die. He had seen so many people die. They all deserved mourning-- Percy wanted to sit here at the palace gates for a thousand years, crying a thousand tears for each fallen friend.

“I am Penthus,” the man said, smiling. His smile looked painful, as if he hadn’t practiced it in centuries. “You call me Grief and Mourning, and we are old friends, aren’t we, Perseus?” 

Percy shook his head, but the tears were spilling over. If this was the personification of mourning, Percy had had enough of him. “Leave me alone.” 

The old man let out a wail, as if this was the most tragic thing he had heard of. Strands of gray hair fell off of his head, and Percy was reminded of the tradition of tearing out your hair and clothes when someone you loved died. He wanted to try it, wanted a hole in his shirt for every fallen Apollo camper and a bald spot for every demigod in Kronos’ army that he had killed. 

“Perseus, please,” the old man said, voice cracking on the name. He reached out again, grabbing at Percy’s shirt. “Think, Perseus. Does grief ever leave you alone? Even if you bring her back, there are still so many to cry for-- ” 

Percy shoved the man away, backing up. He kept Riptide tight in his hand, and held it out protectively. But the old man was right-- there were so many to cry for, there were so many dead people who he would never forget. But he couldn’t bring them all back.

The old man kept his hands up, tears dripping over the bridge of his nose. “Perseus, grieve with me, keep an old man company.” 

“I -- ” He almost wanted to. He almost wanted to stay here and cry for the rest of the century. He could be like the boy from the old myth, who cried until he had no more tears, and the gods turned him into a flower that grew on the banks of rivers. Penthus must have haunted that boy too.

“I can’t,” Percy stuttered out. He backed up, nearly tripping over a stone. “I’m going to stop grieving. I’m going to bring her back.” 

Penthus smiled again, twisted and broken and still sad somehow. “But that is the curse,” he murmured. His voice was so quiet and thick with sorrow that Percy almost couldn’t hear it. “I will live forever, because grief is eternal. Mortals can only learn to bear it, Perseus, and you have not learned.” 

“Leave me alone,” Percy yelled, slashing Riptide out. A group of Stymphalian birds cawed and fluttered out of the bushes. Penthus disappeared with a pop, but the tears on Percy’s cheeks still remained, burning holes into his skin. 

“I don’t need to bear it,” he muttered to himself, turning away from the bushes. The palace entrance was so close. “I’m going to get her back.” 

The giant double doors swung open when he stepped in front of them. Next to the thirty foot high doors, Percy was tiny. Hades could step on him, crush him if he wanted to. There would be nothing Percy could do to stop him. 

He swallowed nervously, the tears suddenly drying with the heat of the room. Hades was nearby. It was too late for second thoughts. 

He walked into the palace, his steps echoing on the marble floor. The doors swung closed behind him, the slam reverberating in the stone walls. Percy kept moving forward, the guards stepping to attention as he passed. None of them attacked. Hades knew he was here. 

In just a few minutes, he had found the main hall, where a twenty foot tall god was lounging on a throne of bones. He smirked as Percy entered the throne room, a glint in his eyes that told Percy that Hades was planning on having fun with this. 

“Lord and Uncle,” Percy said, kneeling. His head bowed, he continued, “I’ve come-- ”

“I know why you’ve come,” Hades interrupted. He uncrossed his legs, standing up. Percy nearly cowered at the sight of him, with the long black robes shimmering with the screaming faces of the dead and the crown of gold thorns that rested on his head. Hades shrunk himself down to Percy’s size, but he wasn’t any less fearsome. Now, Percy could just see his fury up close and in detail. 

“Just hear me out,” Percy said, not lifting his head. 

“You’re pathetic. Stand up,” Hades commanded, voice thundering. “Give me one good reason I should hear you out.” 

Percy stood, moving slowly. “I’ve fought for the gods since I was twelve. I was daring enough to come here. I deserve a reward.” 

“You deserve a punishment for your impertinence,” Hades yelled. Percy flinched away, one hand instinctively going to Riptide. “Oh, don’t bother drawing your sword, you’ll die before you get it out.” 

Percy moved his hand away, swallowing. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

“Oh and why’s that, mortal?” Hades asked, his words thick with threats. He spun on his heel, facing Percy, his pale skin almost ghostly. “You think you’re stronger than me? I am a god.” 

“I’ve fought gods before,” Percy said, but his voice shook. “You sent people after me to try to stop me, and you know they tried, Nico even dueled with me, but I’m stronger than all of them. Uncle, I’ve fought you before, and I’ve won.” 

Hades scoffed. “My son is weak. You had the curse of Achilles then, and now? Now you are nothing. You couldn’t even have made it here without friends.” 

“I’ve fought gods without the curse,” Percy said, suddenly gaining confidence. Hades was stalling, trying to scare him into submission. Percy had dealt with enough bullies who thought they were the scarier one, and that made them strong. He found Riptide in his pocket, pulling it out. 

“I’m the son of the Father of Monsters, and I am the hero and savior of Olympus,” Percy called out. He could almost hear the ichor in Hades’ veins flowing, the water molecules that moved there. Percy was the most powerful when he had nothing to lose, and right now, he had nothing left. 

“I have fought gods and monsters, and none of them could kill me,” he said. “I made the war god bleed, and I quenched the Titan of the East’s flames. I made Misery cry, and I have destroyed sons of Gaia. I have looked Tartarus in the eyes and walked through a hell that only monsters come out of. Now, Hades, I’ve come to get what you have stolen from me.” 

For a moment, Hades looked afraid. The fear was etched into the lines at his eyes, and suddenly he seemed as old as the eons which he had lived through. He swallowed nervously, and took a long step back. 

Percy uncapped Riptide, steadying himself. If he was going to have to fight Hades for this, then so be it. He couldn’t kill a god, but he could make one fear death. He could make a god wish he were dead. 

The Fields of Punishment were in this same kingdom, and even a god would scream at the touch of hellfire and demon-talons. There were centuries worth of bitter and angry mortals who wanted revenge on Hades. There was a one-way trip to Tartarus only a little ways away, the open and gaping pit he had found when he was twelve. There were ways to get what he wanted. 

Then Hades held out his hands, taking several steps back and chuckling. “You make a good pitch, Percy Jackson, I’ll give you that.” 

Percy stepped forward, Riptide aimed at his throat. The blade had tasted a thousand monsters, and it ached to eat a god. 

“Tell you what,” Hades said, clapping his hands. He seemed to have forgotten that he was a god, and Percy was only a human (part of Percy wondered how monstrous he had to be to make the god of the dead afraid, but the other part was just grateful for it). “I’ll make you a deal. Just put down the sword, and we can talk.” 

Percy glared at him. Hades wasn’t another monster he could terrorize into doing what he wanted. Hades was named the Crooked One for a reason. “No tricks.” 

“No tricks.” Hades nodded, trying for sincerity. It was hard to believe, though, with the black eyes that glittered like black onyx. 

Percy capped Riptide, but remained poised to fight. If he needed to, he could draw Riptide out in a split second. “What’s your deal?” 

Hades nodded, lowering his hands. Now that Percy had seen him afraid, his crown seemed pathetic as it rested on his greasy hair. His long bangs fell out of place, covering his left eye-- another imperfection in his immortality. “You met Orpheus, on your way here. You know his story.” 

“Lead her out of the Underworld, and don’t look back,” Percy confirmed. Orpheus’ fatal flaw had been doubt, Percy recalled him saying. His own fatal flaw had nothing to do with doubt. He could survive a long, lonesome walk upwards, if it meant Annabeth would be with him. 

“Do that,” Hades said, “and I’ll let you have the girl.” 

“You swear on the River Styx?” 

A dark shadow washed over Hades’ expression, a vile flame in his eyes. “I swear on the River Styx that if you can reach the land of the living without looking back, I will let Annabeth Chase live. That is the only possible way I will let her go.” 

“Deal,” Percy said. 

The room’s temperature dropped thirty degrees when he said it, and Percy shivered. Hades waved a hand, and Percy found himself standing outside the palace, facing the way he came. The doors had slammed shut behind him, and the ground swayed underneath his feet. 

He took a deep breath, and started walking. Annabeth was behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

There was a howl in the air as Percy walked. He didn’t know if it was the wind or just a haunting howl in his head, one he had conjured up on his own. Every step landed hard on the soles of his feet, the sound of his walking reverberating in his head. 

The tunnel felt longer on the way back than it had on the way in. The walls held up, but the ground seemed to sink under his feet. Each step was harder and harder, like he was Sisyphus, rolling a stone up a hill with no end in sight. He might have been walking through this tunnel for a century and he wouldn’t know the difference. 

“We’re almost there,” Percy said, voice braver than he felt.

It reminded him of being in Tartarus, making promises to each other that Percy intended on keeping. Telling each other that they’re gonna make it out, make it to the land of the living, and they were going to do it together. This time, though, he would follow through. He didn’t plan on getting to the top without her. 

“I missed you,” Percy said to the chill in the air. He hoped that Annabeth was listening to him. “I missed you more than words can say, Annabeth. I think I went a bit crazy there, for a bit. I didn’t know what to do without you, but now-- we’re going to be together. I’m not going to fail you again.” 

She didn’t say anything back, but he could feel her breath on his neck-- or was that just the wind? He reached behind him, hoping that she was there to take his hand. She didn’t, but he thought maybe he felt the brush of her fingers. Hades had sworn she would be there, so she was (except he knew better than to trust a god, even one who made a promise). 

“I’ve seen so many things since I lost you,” Percy said. He licked his lips, but his mouth tasted like cotton balls. “I met Penthus-- you know who that is? I’m sure you do. Being around him was worse than Misery, I think, because I didn’t have you with me. But then I remembered that I won’t have to grieve anymore, not when you’re back. At least not for you.” 

He took a deep breath. The way ahead was dark, only shadows and fog and dirt. He tried not to think about all the other people that he was leaving behind in the Underworld, all the fallen heroes he hadn’t been able to save. He loved Annabeth best, of course, but the guilt for leaving them was still aching in every step. 

“I never wanted to be a hero,” Percy said softly, his voice just a whisper. “I just wanted to be a normal kid. I didn’t want to be a half-blood.” 

The wind seemed to scream around him, gusts of air blowing through his hair and around him. “Now that I am a half-blood, though, I -- I have to be a hero. And I’m going to be one. I’ll bring you back and save you from death itself, and that’s going to be the last heroic act I do for a long time.” 

“We’re gonna retire for awhile,” Percy continued. “Without any quests or prophecies. Someone else can handle it. We’re gonna stay at Camp Half-Blood, and just roast marshmallows and sing stupid campfire songs and maybe go out to the lake.” 

He laughed to himself. “Remember when I got the curse of Achilles? Nico took me to the River Styx, and I had to just walk in, deal with the pain. I imagined a bungee cord, keeping me tethered to the mortal world.”

He tripped over a stone, landing hard on his palms. His jeans were stained with mud and grass. He wanted to look back, wanted to make sure Annabeth was still following, hadn’t disappeared when he fell. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath and stood up, brushing off his pants. 

“When I was losing it, dying in that river, I thought about you,” Percy said. He hadn’t ever told anyone that before, but Annabeth deserved to know how much he loved her. 

He continued. “I imagined I was just in the lake at camp, and I had fallen out of the canoe. You were laughing at me, but you reached down and pulled me up. You said I wasn’t getting away from you that easily.” 

Percy reached his hand back again, grasping at thin air. No one took his hand, but he imagined that she wanted to. He imagined that she was aching to touch him as much as he was her. He imagined she was watching the back of his head, wishing to see his eyes. 

“Well, it’s my turn to tell you now,” Percy said, voice strong. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.” 

He took a long breath, trying to taste the salt air of the beach above them. He couldn’t though, not yet.

“You’ve saved me so many times,” he continued, talking just to fill up the silence. “Taking that poison knife, talking your way out of a thousand battles I would have died in. You’ve saved me from myself, for Zeus’ sake. I’m gonna save you this time, and then we’re going to be even, yeah?” 

Every step grew heavier as he walked, but he had made a promise. He wasn’t going to stop, and he wasn’t going to turn back. He had to save her, be the hero. 

He trailed his hand along the mud wall, feeling the dry dirt crumble under his fingertips. It fell to the ground silently, landing among the gravel and the worms. It had been there for a thousand years and would be there for a thousand more. Percy was planning on getting out. 

He smiled inwardly, looking forwards. “Do you remember when we were fifteen? Going into the Labyrinth?”

He waited for an answer, but it didn’t come. There was just the sound of his shoes hitting the occasional rock under his feet. “Walking through the maze was terrifying,” he continued, “but I trusted you with my life even back then. I knew you would get us through that.” 

He laughed quietly, a somber sound in the palpable silence of the tunnely. “You kissed me, at Mount St. Helens. The was my first kiss, you know that? I remember that I was embarrassed, but at the same I wanted you to do it again and again and again. I’ve loved you since we were kids, Annabeth.” 

The way ahead seemed to get darker as he walked, the path becoming a steeper slope. Hopefully that meant he was getting closer to the surface. 

“I remember when I got back after blowing that mountain up,” Percy continued, “you were so mad at me, and Chiron told me that you probably knew where I had been. I’m sure you did. But I could never have stayed there. Calypso said that it would be a place with no pain ever again, and that was tempting, but in the end I didn’t care. I wanted to be in the real world, with you and all my other friends. She said that I was Odysseus and you were my Penelope.” 

In The Odyssey, Percy remembered, Penelope was supposed to be the ultimate symbol of submissive wives. She was the picture perfect one-- who waited for Odysseus twenty years while he fought overseas and had several affairs. Annabeth wasn’t anything like that. She lived her own life, made her own destiny. She didn’t need him to protect her. 

But Calypso got one thing right. Percy was dedicated to Annabeth, would give up paradise for her. They were a modern myth, a modern tale of heroism. Except in this one, they were both the heroes, and in this one, they were going to live happily ever after. 

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he said, a smile growing on his lips. It had been so long since he smiled a real smile, but he could feel real hope flowing through his veins. “I can’t wait to kiss you, and see your eyes, and your smile, and I can’t wait to hold your hand.” 

They had never been one of those couples that were always touching or making out, but after all this, Percy didn’t think he ever wanted to let her go. Annabeth could take care of herself, he knew that well enough, but that didn’t mean there wasn't still a fear that she would be taken from him again. She was braver and stronger than him, but he didn’t think he could stand to be apart from her, and that was entirely for his own selfish sake. 

He tried to speed up, tried to walk faster, but it felt like walking in quicksand. For a split second, his heart stopped-- had Gaia risen again? Was she coming to consume him, wrap him in earth and drown him in the dirt? 

He swallowed down the thoughts, staring straight ahead. Gaia had been defeated, spread across the sky into a thousand unretrievable pieces. She couldn’t touch him, not anymore. His steps were against solid ground, and his breath was clean air rather than dirt. Up ahead, he could see the light flickering into view. 

The wind echoed in his ear, a growl, growing louder. He shook off the unease, but paused to take a breath. The roar was loud, and it was more than air. There was something big behind him, something rapidly getting closer. He could hear footsteps, landing heavily on the ground of the tunnel, kicking up dirt. 

Every fighting instinct in him screamed to turn around, to look at what it was behind him that he was going to have to fight. But he didn’t, he couldn’t turn, because if he turned, everything would be gone. If Hades was sending another monster after him, the land of the living had to be close. He was so close to winning a war that finally mattered. He couldn’t fail now. 

He stepped forward, starting at a run. Whatever was behind him wasn’t slowing down, and it was going to catch up to him and Annabeth. He couldn’t stop now. 

His panicked breath was heavy in the air, just another layer of fear under the roaring behind him. His toes dug into the earth, propelling him faster, and he wondered if Annabeth was running too. She had to be, had to be following him at a sprint. He had to run fast enough for the both of them. 

Percy could feel his heart beating in his throat, choking him. The anxiety was palpable in the air like a fog or a ghost that hung around him, clinging to his arms. He kept running, pushing through the air that was holding him back. Every beat in his pulse was a drummer, thumping to the tune of doubt and fear. 

He pumped his arms by his sides, but he could feel his energy rapidly depleting. There was something about this tunnel, about this air that was making him exhausted, draining him of all hope. There was a monster or a god haunting him, maybe him doubt everything he knew. Was he strong enough to do this? Was he brave enough? Could he keep running? 

He hadn’t been able to do it before, in Tartarus. He hadn’t been able to do it when he was twelve, and trying to bargain for his mother. He hadn’t been able to do it when he was fifteen, jumping into the ocean off of a cruise ship instead of staying back to save his friend.

His thoughts came in interwoven jumbles of string, clawing through his mind and settling in his brain like hot glue. They stayed there, a mess of regrets and distrust. He couldn’t do this, he had never been strong enough for this. He was no savior, no hero. He hadn’t saved her before, and if he couldn’t save her from this monster, if he couldn’t run faster, what was the point in any of this? 

Still, he took another step forward. Behind him, something was growling. It was a familiar growling, like a vicious dog coming to rip at his Achilles’ heel. He could almost imagine the glowing red eyes of a hellhound or the slick fur of a Rottweiler. He could hear the gnashing of teeth and the slobber of a tongue ready to taste human meat. 

He kept running. Annabeth was behind him. He could see the light of day, somewhere ahead of him. But even as he kept going, it felt like the light was getting smaller and farther away. Every curve was another tomorrow away. Every beam of sun was a false oasis of fresh water in a desert of uncertainty. Every breath was another countdown until he failed. 

The growling was getting closer, becoming a rhythm in Percy’s mind that spurred his running faster. It was a booming clamor for something living, the taste of blood. Percy stumbled as he ran, nearly tripping over a blood red ruby that had popped up under his feet. It was the size of his fist, like the ones that had dripped from trees in the Underworld. Hades was watching him-- trying to throw him off track, make him fail. 

Percy kept moving, trying to swallow down his breaths and keep his pulse even. He had to keep going and prove Hades wrong. There was nothing Hades could do to make him turn around, not when he was so close to Annabeth. 

He pulled Riptide from his pocket, keeping the capped pen tight in his fist. He could remember when Chiron first gave him the weapon, on his first quest with Annabeth. He could remember using it to fight next to her, back to back. He could remember using it to protect her when she fell during the Titan War. He could remember using the light of the blade to find the way in the dark of the Labyrinth. 

He kept marching on. The real world is where the monsters are, Annabeth had told him once, that’s where you find out if you’re any good or not. This was the moment to find out if he was strong. 

The growling came closer, and Percy was sure that he could feel breath on the back of his neck (was it Annabeth’s or the monster’s breathing he heard?). He squeezed Riptide in his fist (he had dropped it before, would he do it again?). His running slowed down as the monster behind him sped up. There was a ringing in his ears, whiting out all other thoughts. He had to keep going, but he could barely think, barely breathe through all his misgivings. 

“Annabeth?” he called out. “You there?” 

The only response was a howling, deep and angry. Percy barely suppressed a yell as the monster pounced forwards, the ground shaking under their feet. Dirt rained down from the ceiling, landing on his shoulders and tangled in his hair. The earth was quaking and Percy could imagine that the monster was roaring loud enough to wake the world above them. 

He could feel breath on his neck, warm and hot and sticky. Nails clawed against his back, slashing straight through his shirt. His eyes widened and he let out a yell as he stumbled, collapsing on his knees. The mud sunk into his jeans, cool against his scraped knees. He couldn’t see the end of the road, couldn’t even imagine what it looked like to the living. 

If the monster had scratched his back, what had happened to Annabeth? Was she there? Was she still with him? 

There was silence. The dim light was filtering through the tunnel to highlight the scars on Percy’s hands. His pulse was a rapid fire machine gun, and his heartstrings were tearing. 

The monster had stopped. 

Percy could feel the scratches on his back bleeding and the wind on his bare skin as he paused, Riptide in its pen form gripped tight in his fist. He was breathing hard, every heartbeat another drum in his lungs. His hands shook. 

“Annabeth?” he called out, eyes wide. All his could see was the darkness, the dirt crumbling from the ceiling, his feet sinking into the ground. There was a soft growl, farther away this time, as if he had left the monster behind him. _“Annabeth!”_

Someone was screaming, and Percy knew that scream, he had heard it before, in a hellscape he didn’t want to name. He knew it was Annabeth in the same way he knew he had to be a hero for once in his damn life. She was behind him and terrified and the monster must have gotten to her, was tearing her apart with its nails and teeth and red eyes. Someone needed to save her-- it was his turn, he couldn’t fail again-- and all of his thoughts blanked out. 

Annabeth screamed again. Percy uncapped Riptide, and he turned around.


	13. Chapter 13

There was silence, just the sound of his own panting breath. There was no monster in front of him. Just Annabeth, watching him with a soft smile. She wasn’t afraid, or hurt, or bleeding, just watching him. 

“It’s you,” Percy said, voice cracking. 

“It’s me,” Annabeth said. “I love you, Percy.” 

She was quiet, something lonely on her face. Her voice was like a whisper of wind in the stale air, her gray eyes kind on this failure of a savior. 

“Annabeth,” Percy murmured, stumbling over the syllables (oh gods, what had he done?). 

Annabeth smiled at him, reaching out a hand. “You’ll always be my favorite mythic hero, Seaweed Brain. Take your time before coming back down.” 

“Oh gods,” Percy whispered. He reached out his hand to take hers, to pull her away, take her back from Hades’ kingdom and hide her away forever. “Annabeth-- ”

As he touched her hand, she disappeared, dissipating with a hiss into the darkness. All that was left behind was a shadow and a dream. 

“Come back,” Percy said. Then, stronger, he repeated it again and again, until it was a scream into a lonesome tunnel. _“Come back!”_

But there was no movement in the tunnel other than the tears sliding down his cheeks and his trembling hands. He had dropped Riptide again, just clawing at the dirt as if he could dig his way back down to the Underworld.

“Hades!” he yelled, voice ripping through his throat. There was no answer from the god. His prayers, his screaming supplication wasn’t enough for Hades nor Pluto nor any other deity. It wasn’t enough to bring her back. He hadn’t been strong enough. 

It wasn’t fair-- he had come so close, he had gotten here, and he had failed. Annabeth had been behind him. She had been there, waiting. There hadn’t been a monster nor a fight; there was nothing to be afraid of. It had all been one of Hades’ tricks, another test to make him mess up. 

_Hades gives you a task he knows you can never complete, Orpheus had said. My fatal flaw was self-doubt. He knew that, and he sent me on a path made specifically for me._

Percy had wanted to be a hero, save her and prove himself so badly that he had destroyed his only chance of getting her back. His fatal flaw was loyalty-- he would do anything to save his friends. He just forgot what needed to be done in order to truly save her. 

He choked out a sob, tears spilling over his eyelids and off of his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see this world, this godforsaken tunnel where he had failed Annabeth again. 

“Annabeth,” Percy whispered, the word faltering on his bitten up lips. There was no wind in the tunnel, and maybe he had imagined that too. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-- ”

He repeated those words again and again, a litany of apologies to a ghost who would never hear them. She was gone, and she would never hear him from a thousand miles below the earth. He was left behind in this lonely tunnel, grasping at a pile of dirt slipping through his fingers. 

Percy didn’t know how long he stayed there, kneeling at the feet of someone who had disappeared. His tears were drying into lines of salt on his cheeks and lips and chin, and his fingers ached from being clenched into a fist for so long. Dirt was caked under his fingernails and in the lines of his palm, and when he rubbed at his eyes, he could feel the sweaty mud leaving tracks underneath his eyes. 

He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together, but his hands still shook. He stood, unsteady on his feet and falling into the dirt wall. He wasn’t standing so much as lying on the wall, lightheaded from the small movements. 

Riptide was have buried in dirt, but the blade still glinted in the light. The darkness had been another illusion, Percy knew now. He could see the end of the tunnel from where he stood. He straightened up, eyes clouded over. 

He left Riptide where it lay in the ground, and started walking. He stumbled his way forwards, nearly tripping on every other rock on the path. Just before the spot where the beach met the tunnel, a large diamond glittered in the sunlight. It seemed to smile at him, laugh at his failure. 

Percy kicked it away, where it bounced into the sand, landing among the dunes. Some damned mortal could find it and be rich. He didn’t care. He walked out of the tunnel, the sunlight landing on his face and drying the tears still gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t feel its warmth. 

He stepped across the sand, feet sinking heavily into the ground. The wind blew through his hair, the salt mist hitting his lips. It was one of those picture perfect days, one that he couldn’t enjoy without Annabeth by his side. 

He sat down on the beach in front of the tunnel, the sand getting in his shoes and socks. He didn’t care. The sun was beginning to set, vanishing over the horizon in a watercolor charade of light. Apollo was in his chariot, driving the light across the sky, failing to look downwards and give a thought to the mortals dying below. 

The waves were crashing against the shore, wearing down the sand and stones and glass into something soft and docile, something easily controlled.

Poseidon had broken a sacred oath when he fathered Percy. He was a god, so he couldn’t be punished, but the Fates knew there was no such protection for Percy. All that divine retribution for breaking his oath fell on Percy, an endless punishment for being born. 

He had thought that his time had been served after the Titan War, but the Fates didn’t stop there. This was the worst punishment they had come up with, because he had almost made it. He had almost avoided the pain. 

The sea wind hit his face, and he closed his eyes, letting it fall over his tears. The stars would come out soon, and from this side of the world, The Huntress would be visible. He opened his eyes, looking up to the sky. She was running across the sky with a bow in hand, reaching out to win a hunt that was never over. 

He ran a hand through his unruly hair, dirt and sand and sweat all coming apart at his fingertips. He wanted to fall asleep and never wake up, or go into the sea and forget how to breathe. He struggled for another breath, the taste of salt on his tongue trying to strangle the memory of the taste of Annabeth’s strawberry chapstick. 

The wind was beginning to pick up, the ocean started to writhe and twist and slam down on the beach. Each wave crashed with a clamor that made Percy’s heart skip a beat. The sky was turning darker, gray clouds forming above him. The world looked as angry and broken as he felt, nature at war with itself. 

Percy screamed, just a guttural roar for everything that has gone wrong in his life. Riptide had reappeared in his pocket, and he threw it as far as he could over the sand and into the sea. It landed in the waves without a sound, and Percy screamed again. 

The ground shook underneath him, and his fingers found a stone to throw. This one landed in the sand on the bar of dried seaweed, landing with a crunch. Percy yelled something unintelligible, running down to the bar. He found the stone, throwing it again with reckless abandon until it landed in the ocean. 

The waves seemed to growl as he found more sticks and shells and crab skeletons to throw, all of them landing someone in the ocean for someone else to find. He yelled curses at the sea, at the sky, at the gods as he did it, every object landing between crashing waves. He hated the ocean and he hated his father and he hated the gods and he hated nature, but heaven knew there was no one to blame but himself. 

The ground shook underneath him, the darkening sky thundering above him. Maybe Zeus was angry that Percy was cursing him, but Percy couldn’t care less. Zeus could smite him, could throw down his master bolt, and it wouldn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not when he had tried so hard but he had failed in the end. 

It felt like the world was splitting in two, a crack the size of his heartbreak opening up in the beach beneath him. There was a siren in his head, a warning tone that was going to drive him insane if it didn’t stop soon. 

Percy clutched at his head, ankle deep in seaweed and ocean water, sitting back down. He let the water wash over him, soaking him in seawater. His scream broke off into a sob, and he bowed his head, resting it on his knees. His shoulder shook as he cried, just endless aching tears wracking his body with his grief. 

He hadn’t brought her back. He had done everything he could have, he had gone to the Underworld and he had bargained with the Lord of the Dead and he had fought every doubt in his mind. But he had failed anyways. He thought he could be a hero, and he turned around to fight invisible monsters that weren’t there. And Annabeth had died again. 

The temperature seemed to drop as he sat there, the water kicking at his knees. He looked up, chest heaving from his ragged breaths. Hades stood in the water, wrapped in his black robes and looking endlessly small. 

He didn’t come any closer, but somehow Percy could hear him. 

“You have my condolences,” Hades murmured. His voice was as human as it had ever been, probably as it ever would be. 

Percy looked up. “You did this. You tricked me. You made me think she was hurt.” 

“I did,” Hades said. “But I didn’t think you would fall for it. I thought you were stronger than that.” 

“You and me both,” Percy muttered bitterly. 

Hades crossed his arms, his robes weighed down by the ocean. His bangs were parted to either side, and his eyes had a terrible fire in them. “You tried, and that should mean something.” 

“But it doesn’t,” Percy finished for him. “My waking life is going to be hell, and then I’m going to die and you’ll punish me then, too.” 

“I could,” Hades said. “But I can have a kind heart sometimes. Sometimes gods want to feel human. That’s what we love most about you demigods.” 

Percy looked up, something too dull in his eyes to have any hope. “You’ll bring her back?” 

“I swore on the River Styx that I would only do that if you completed my task,” Hades said. His words weren’t cruel, but Percy wanted to throw another shell at him anyways. “If it makes you feel better, I’m letting Orpheus free to be with his wife. And neither Nico nor Hazel will face any punishment.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” 

“Lucky for you,” Hades said. “There’s an afterlife waiting for you. And an eternity in Elysium is a long time to be with her.” 

“It’s a long ways until then, too.” Percy didn’t meet his eyes (Annabeth had told him to take his time, and he couldn’t disappoint her again, not a third time). 

Hades shrugged, uncrossing his arms. “I’ve done what I can. May it be many years before we meet again, Jackson.” 

He disappeared in a cloud of shadows, as if the darkness itself was sinking into the waves. Percy screamed a curse at him, finding another shell to throw. It landed where Hades had been standing, plopping into the water with a small splash, tiny in comparison to the legions of anger surging inside of him. 

“Damn you,” Percy yelled, his voice cracking. “Damn you all.” 

Thunder roared across the sky, lightning flashing like an electric eel in the heavens. Rain started to come down, first in a sprinkle and then in a downpour, sheets of raindrops falling and hitting Percy’s skin in pellets. 

His tears mixed with the rain, colliding in a travesty. There was water everywhere: in the ocean, on his skin, in the rain, in the cells in his body. He could control it all. With a clench of his fists, he could destroy everything on this beach, throw a tidal wave over the streets and bring the whole damn city down. He could snap his fingers and choke Hades on his own spit. He could inhale and make the thunderstorms rise or fall. 

He watched the waves roll forwards and backwards, violent in every hit against the seaweed and trash floating in the waves. Sitting in the water used to be calming, but now it just made him angry. All the power surging through his veins, all of that godly ichor in his bones, and none of it was enough to save Annabeth. 

“Percy?” 

Percy looked up, suddenly aware of the ocean soaking through his jeans and the rain beating into his shirt. Tears hung at his eyelashes, and a sob still lingered in his lungs. His mom was standing there, long hair rippling in the wind. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and Percy crumpled. 

“Mom?” he whispered. 

He didn’t know how Sally heard him, but she came closer, opening her arms. She knelt next to him, pulling him close. She didn’t flinch at the water which soaked through her blue skirt, or the rain which was matting down her hair. 

“Percy, honey,” she whispered. “I’m here, baby.” 

Percy pulled away, wiping at the tears in his eyes. “How are you here?” 

“Chiron helped fly me out as soon as I figured out what it was that you were doing, and Grover brought me here,” she said. She kept her hands wrapped around Percy’s wrists, smiling at him. The rain looked like tears streaming down her face. “Are you okay?” 

Percy fell into her again, and she wrapped her arms around him. “Mom, I’m so tired.” 

“I know,” Sally whispered into the rain. She kissed the top of his head. “I know.” 

He broke into sobs, leaving his tears fall freely while she held him. The rain slowed as he cried, as if he had cried all the tears left in the sky. The thunder rolled to a stop somewhere above them, as if Zeus had stilled his hand. 

Past Sally’s shoulder, Percy could see a group of figures watching them from a distance-- his friends, coming to stand with him. Percy squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see all of their faces when they found out he had failed. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Percy whispered. The waves lapped at the shore, hitting Percy and Sally and covering them in salty ocean, as if Poseidon were watching them. “I couldn’t bring her back. I turned around.” 

“It’s okay,” Sally murmured into his ear. She kissed his temple again, holding him close. If she could change the world for him, make everything beautiful again, she would do it in a heartbeat. She would give her life to make heaven fall for her son. “You did everything you could, she knows that, she knows how hard you tried.” 

“I love her,” Percy said. His voice cracked again and it sounded like thunder to his ears. “I love her and I don’t know what to do without her.” 

Tears were running down Sally’s cheeks. A small part of her had broken when she had learned Percy’s doomed fate, but more of her heart was snapping now. “It’s gonna be okay, Percy, we’re gonna be okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Percy stammered out.

Sally cupped his cheeks, pressing her lips to his forehead. She didn’t have enough words to explain how sorry she was, how much she wished she could give him, how far back she would turn back time if she could. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, mijo.” 

Percy just looked at her. He didn’t think there was anything that he wasn’t sorry for. 

“I love you, Percy,” she said. Those were the only words left that meant anything. “Let’s get you somewhere warm, okay? And into a dry pair of clothes.” 

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. 

He took her hand when she stood, pulling himself up. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him to the small group of people standing on the beach throughout the storm. He could see Hazel standing with Grover, an exhaustion in his eyes as if he had known this would happen. They were soaked to the bone from the rain, but no less determined to greet him. 

Sally waved, keeping her other arm around Percy. “It’s gonna be okay.”


	14. Chapter 14

There was a hurricane and an earthquake in San Francisco. The roads split in half like a hand was reaching out of the ground to grasp at the sky. The trees toppled to the ground like the sky had fallen and crushed them. On his mountain, Atlas shook with the weight of the wind pushing him over. In the sea, Nereus was tossed from wave to wave like a drowned paper sailboat. Percy noticed none of this. 

If there was one thing that Percy would never be able to forgive himself for, it was that he almost saved her. He had almost reached the sunlight, almost held her hand again. He had almost climbed out of that tunnel and onto the sand, almost breathed in the sea air again and known she was next to him. He had almost brought her back to life. 

If there was one thing that he would never be able to forgive himself for, it was that he had failed. He had failed, and he had lost her. 

Sally kept a close eye on him on the long drive back to New York, and the drive from their apartment to camp a few days later. Percy kept his gaze steady on the trees by the highway, the blur they became when the traffic had disappeared. He refused to think about anything more complicated than naming the shades of green that passed by (green, dark green, light green, green, green, green). 

They got back to Camp Half-Blood a hundred years older than Percy had been when he left. The campers all seemed to know what had happened, keeping wary eyes on him as he approached his cabin. The hero and savior of Olympus had finally lost. 

The cabin was just as he had left it, as if nothing horrible had happened since he had been gone. The hippocampi glittered as they danced around the ceiling, the bedsheets were messy and unmade. An empty water bottle lay forgotten underneath one of the bunks. Photos were taped to the walls, him and Annabeth and Grover and Tyson and the Seven and the counselors from two summers ago. 

Percy stood in front of one, where he and Annabeth were laughing. Annabeth was reaching towards the camera, as if to stop the photographer from taking the photo. A bandage was wrapped around her upper arm, where someone had cut her during Capture the Flag. They had been happy in that photo, all made up of bruises and smiles and scraped knees and a summer that was never supposed to end. It ended anyways. 

“Hey,” someone said from the doorway, a dark shadow backlit by the sun.

Percy turned around to find Nico hovering at the front steps. “What do you want, Nico? Come to boast?” 

Nico swallowed, wincing visibly. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have-- I should have helped you. I should’ve stood by you.” 

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Percy said, trying not to let anything bitter slip into his words. He sat down heavily on his bunk bed, sinking into the mattress. He rested his elbows on his knees, and a cold shiver ran up his spine.

“That’s not the point,” Nico told him. “I just… I always get so caught up in trying to make my father proud. He’s a god, and I’m just… a lowly demigod. I want to prove myself to him, and so I just do whatever he wants. It’s-- it was wrong of me.” 

“I don’t need your reasons,” Percy interrupted, something boiling inside of his stomach. He knew how Nico felt, he knew that desire to prove himself and show the gods he meant something too, even if he wasn’t omniscient. Hadn’t he sent Medusa’s head to Olympus for the very same reason? 

Nico moved slowly, finally sitting down next to Percy on the bunk. He bent down, a shadow crossing his face. “Everytime I trust him, it goes wrong. You would think I would learn.” 

“You can’t trust a god,” Percy said bitterly.

Next to him, Nico sighed. It was deep and tired, something no fifteen year old should ever feel. Like he had waged a thousand wars and lost all of them. He glanced at Percy for a moment before saying, “I can bring her back. For a moment.” 

Percy froze. “You would do that?” 

“I told you before I wouldn’t, and it’s risky, but-- just for a moment.” Nico paused, twisting his skull ring around his finger. “If it would help you.” 

Percy studied him, and the scabbed over cut on his cheek seemed to burn. “Why would you do that?” 

“I was trying to protect you, back when I said I couldn’t let you see her,” Nico told him. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I don’t really know what that is anymore. I just want to help… a friend.” He said the last words sofly, hesitant, as if he weren’t sure that they were true. 

“Thank you,” Percy said, swallowing. Outside of the cabin, he could hear someone laughing, but the warmth of the sound didn’t reach the cold interior. “I’m sorry, you know. About everything I’ve done to you.” 

Nico frowned, looking over at him. The lights in the cabin were out, and Percy’s face was caught the shadow of the fainting sun. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ve let you down, so many times,” Percy explained, voice distant. “Failed you. I… I was supposed to be a role model, or whatever. I knew you looked up to me like one. But you suffered anyways. I couldn’t protect you from Minos. Or the twin giants. Bianca died. I couldn’t stop it.” 

“None of those things were your fault,” Nico said. “All those things that you blame yourself for? The wars, the deaths. Bianca. Leo. Annabeth. None of those things were your fault. No one blames you for any of it.” 

Percy shrugged. He met Nico’s eyes, just briefly, for a moment. “Are you happy now? Even after everything you’ve been through?” 

Nico didn’t have to think about it. Some kind of light flashed behind his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” 

“Good.” Percy looked down, not wanting to meet Nico’s gaze. He was happy for Nico, of course, he had only ever wanted the best for him. But there was something shamefully painful about seeing another person’s happiness, because Percy was so desperate for his own. 

It still stung like saltwater in old scars that he had failed. That he had made so many mistakes, and he couldn’t ever take them back. He was going through life with a tally of deaths on his wrists, deaths he would one day have to answer for. 

Death is one of those things that hangs on your shoulders like a cloak constantly unravelling. One day, you hope that it will be finished and you can let go of the stitches you’re holding, but you also know that when the darkness falls, all the stitches come undone again. The grief doesn’t leave, no matter how many woven lines you add to the cloak. 

Nico tapped a finger against his ring. It made a soft sound, one that broke Percy away from his thoughts. “Would you like to see her?” 

Percy didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

Nico nodded, beginning to lead him out of the cabin. Night had begun to melt over the horizon, leaving blankets of darkness over the cabins. The Artemis cabin glowed faintly silver, the moon burning on the roof. The Apollo cabin, not to be outdone, had a gold sheen against the windows. Somewhere in the world, the sun was still shining. 

The two of them made their way to the forest, finding familiar paths past the archery range and the stables and the volleyball court. No one else was awake, the threat of cleaning harpies on everyone’s minds. The harpies seemed afraid of Nico, though, and there was no sight of the red-feathered ladies. 

Just a few feet into the forest, there was a large pit already dug into the ground. A six-pack of Coca Cola and a Happy Meal was sitting patiently at the side, and Percy realized Nico must have been planning this. He didn’t want to know how long. If he had waited only a few hours for Nico to decide to call her, would Percy have even travelled to the Underworld? 

Nico knelt at the edge of the pit, a wave of his hand the only signal for Percy to join him. Slowly, a slight tremble to his hands, Nico poured the Coke into the pit. He took a deep breath before dumping the Happy Meal in too. It dissolved in an instant, bubbling at the surface of the soda. 

Percy swallowed, mouth dry. He watched, tongue like cotton, as Nico began to chant in Ancient Greek. Not for the first time, he wondered where Nico had learned all of this. It was unnatural, like something out of the old horror movies Annabeth had loved watching. 

Before he could say anything, the spirits began to appear. They shimmered silver, like embodied moonlight with vague faces dripping in grief. Percy hated the idea that Annabeth looked like that too. The spirits were chattered with empty mouths, shifting and moving forward to drink from the pit. 

“Stop them,” Nico commanded, breaking his chanting for only a moment. 

Percy nodded, pulling Riptide from his pocket. It had reappeared recently, and he didn’t have the energy to be bitter about it. The blade hissed like a ghost as he uncapped it, and the spirits jumped back. 

He didn’t have to guess which spirit was the right one. She came from the back of the group, shimmering with a different shade of silver than the others. If Percy squinted his eyes, he could imagine the curve of her hips, the reach of her fingers, the shirt she had been wearing in Tartarus.

She stepped forward, and he let her drink. As she did, her form began to solidify, began to become less translucent, and her eyes a dark gray. 

When she stood, Percy’s heart stopped. It was Annabeth, with her tanned skin and tilted smile and that curl of blonde hair that never stayed in the ponytail. She looked at him, something sad in her eyes. But the longer Percy stared at her, the more it became clear that there wasn’t an inch of anger in her gaze. 

“Percy,” she said quietly, breaking the silence. Nico had stopped chanting, and the other ghosts had disappeared. It was as if, for all the world, it was just Percy and Annabeth. 

“Annabeth,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” 

She shook her head, a small laugh on her lips. “It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.” 

However many times she said that, though, Percy couldn’t help that thick feeling in his throat that came from seeing her. Guilt was inching up his spine and he could spit out legions of it. She sighed, reaching over. The closer she got to touching him, the less visible her fingers became. 

“It’s okay,” she murmured, the word a ghost on her haunted lips. It hissed through the air, a hint of the Underworld chatter beneath it. 

Percy’s face crumpled. “How is it okay? How is any of this okay?” 

“I promise,” Annabeth said slowly. “It’s okay.” 

She took a deep breath, as if savoring it one last time. Oxygen was a luxury for a ghost, Percy figured, one that Annabeth couldn’t get enough of just then. There were worse breaths than ones with the scent of Coca Cola in the air. 

“Percy,” Annabeth said. She had begun to fade. “It’s okay. I found a way-- Percy, I’ll see you again. This isn’t the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has read this-- i'm incredibly grateful for all your kudos, comments, and subscriptions. sorry about the cliffhanger...there's a sequel in the works, we'll see how that goes if i ever post that. thank you all, and i hope you enjoyed this last chapter.


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